


Time Still Exists

by starespressos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Castiel (Supernatural), Brief suicidal ideation, Contemporary Dance, Dancer Castiel (Supernatural), Dancer Dean Winchester, Dancing, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Explicit Sexual Content, Ghost Dean Winchester, Giselle Ballet Spoilers, Happy Ending, I'll Walk You Through It In Notes, M/M, Minor Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Slow Burn, You heard it here first, You're safe with me, obviously, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos
Summary: Castiel Novak has dreamed of participating in a theater dancing project forever. When a spot opens at Rowena MacLeod's theater, he jumps right in -- even though it means taking over from someone who has recently passed away. Soon enough, he meets Dean, who spends almost as much time at the theater as Castiel does but refuses to share any details about himself. Castiel is intrigued by him, and not only because Dean is the first person in a long time to treat him with anything less than admiration. As their friendship and the mystery around Dean deepen over time, Castiel’s perception of both himself and the universe is changed forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, finally! 
> 
> So, here's my input for the Reverse Bang. I've had a good time writing, some of the scenes even in beautiful Catalonia. Wow. 
> 
> There's some inaccuracies in this story; but since the tags start with the word "Ghost" you should've already figured out there's some guesswork to be done here. I am a sucker for a happy ending, so trust me, it's going to be great. No bittersweet "happiness" there either -- JUST A JOLLY GOOD HAPPY ENDING OKAY
> 
> Art masterpost on [usarechan's tumblr](http://usarechan.tumblr.com/post/175363578324/my-submission-to-the-deancasreversebang-i-used)!
> 
> More notes after you're done reading the fic. Spoilers...
> 
> Beta (and not one, but two songs for the Playlist PLUS the title, oh my god you've done so much) by the badass [zaphodsgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl), and a special thank you for [superhoney](http://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney) for stepping in for that one scene. Love you both!
> 
> Other thanks include the Paddock and, of course, the artist [usarechan](http://usarechan.tumblr.com) for inspiring me. Your work is beautiful, and I wish you all the best!
> 
> Unlike in Pinefest that had an important order for each song, this time my Playlist is for setting the atmosphere. (My favorite ghost story is always going to be FFX.)
> 
> I'm not sure if I've ever written Demi!Castiel before, although ace spectrum Cas is my headcanon. As y'all know, there's no right or wrong way to be Ace, and the way I've written him is by no means the only way. With that in mind, get reading!

 

Castiel dances.

His eyes are closed, there’s _Headlights_ by Tor Miller on his headphones, and he’s sliding across the floor to familiarize his feet with the new material. On instinct, he lets his upper body reach up towards the spotlights and then swing down until his palms are on the floor. Gracefully, his feet rise up until he’s standing on his hands — first both, then just one — and that’s when he opens his eyes and realizes he’s being watched.

A woman is sitting in the front row of the audience. For a second, it looks like someone else is just behind her — but when Castiel folds himself into a seated position, he’s alone with who can be none other than Rowena McLeod. Castiel takes off his wireless headphones and places them on his phone, neglected on the side of the stage.

“Castiel Novak,” Rowena says with a poise infused with the self-confidence she easily radiates, “Well, I would never have thought!”

“Rowena MacLeod,” Castiel says, nodding politely, “I am honored to finally meet you.”

He steps down from the stage and walks to her, offering her a hand to shake. Rowena looks at him, feigning being appalled, and he leans in to kiss her hand instead.

“And what brings you here?”

Castiel smiles at her, hoping he seems both considerate and professional.

“I’ve come to say yes.”

Rowena barks out a laugh that echoes through the hall, gets up and reaches out her arms. Castiel goes in for the hug, although it makes him slightly uncomfortable.

“That’s my boy!” she yells in his ear and slaps his back before pulling away. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

“I’m honored you even considered me. I haven’t been out there in a while,” Castiel says, slightly abashed. “Although, that hardly matters now. I just want you to know I’m immensely grateful.”

“If you think I judge you based on your performance this year, you’re a fool,” Rowena says, patting him gently on the cheek. “I cried watching your _Mad World_ performance. That’s what counts.”

“I haven’t performed Mad World in two years, with all due respect.”

“I bet you still know it by heart. I still know Odette through and through, and it’s been _decades_ since I last danced the role.”

“Oh, your Swan Lake, Ms. MacLeod, I grew up with it. I watched it from tape enough times to know it by heart,” Castiel says, placing his hand on his chest. “The neighbor kids didn’t want to play it with me.”

Rowena smiles. “Such peasants. Anyway, when are you free to start? Like I told you when I started wooing you, we’re undertaking the contemporary version of Giselle this year and I hope we’ll get to perform it before fall.”

“You’re putting us on a tight timeframe, that’s for sure,” Castiel mutters, and upon Rowena’s angry glance, he raises his hands in consolation. “I’m not complaining. I’m ready to get back into something bigger.”

“And I’ll be pulling all the strings I can find to get the information out there. We’ll talk more about this in our meeting tomorrow.”

Castiel nods and takes his phone to pocket it. “As for your question, I’m ready to start whenever. I work part-time, but the hours are flexible.”

She nods, and Castiel feels another surge of gratefulness. He’s happy they’re getting along so well — he’s heard Rowena can be a bit of a diva. In Castiel’s opinion, there’s nothing wrong with knowing what you’re worth if you’ve got a reason to.

And Rowena does. She’s a world-famous ballet dancer, though sadly retired for a bit over five years now. After she decided her professional dancing days were over, she took over managing a theater. Until now, she and the contemporary dancers under her wing have only performed smaller-scale productions but they’ve been making waves in dance competitions and charity events nonetheless. Castiel knows Charlie Bradbury and Jo Harvelle by name, and he knows the man who mysteriously only goes by his first name, Balthazar. He has to meet the others as soon as possible.

“I guess that’s all for now, then,” Rowena says, still clearly deep in thought. “Unless, of course, you have questions.”

Castiel has a question, but he’s suddenly hesitant. They walk across the slowly ascending side of the hall, and he tastes the question in his tongue — this could anger Rowena, and set their blossoming acquaintanceship on a wrong course.

Still, he can’t help himself.

“I want to know about the person who I’m replacing,” he mumbles. Rowena yelps and scoffs, but places her hand on her mouth to regain control of himself.

“And what is it you wish to know?”

“I do remember what you said on the phone — we shouldn’t talk about the dead.  What I want to know, though, is how important this person was to the rest of your group dynamics. Is everyone going to be comparing me to them? Are people going to mad at me for trying to fill the space?”

Rowena shakes her head and chuckles; it sounds judgemental but Castiel is determined not to read too much into it.

“Are you here to dance or are you here to make friends? That’s my first inquiry.”

“I respect your point of view, but I’m thinking about how well we are going to play together. If they hate me immensely, I’m afraid it will affect all of our performances.”

She hums and stops to stand in front of a door, and Castiel opens it for her. She nods politely, still obviously pleased with a private joke she’s not willing to share.

“I suggest you don’t think about your predecessor, nor mention him. At work, we have a policy of not discussing this subject. Of course, I have no control over my children when they step out the door. Still, under my roof, I hope that you respect this simple rule; I am not ready to deal with the returning grief now that it’s finally mostly out.”

“Of course,” Castiel says hastily, “I won’t mention them. I’m glad you’ve gotten over the worst, but I still want to give you my condolences.”

“Thank you, boy,” Rowena says as they reach the outer stairs of the theater. “But be merry. Our loss is your gain. Now, we’re done for now, but I hope to see you in the staff meeting tomorrow at noon.”

#

Castiel has just enough time to change clothes in his quaint apartment on the corner of Revere and Anderson before he has to get to work. He’s been employed at his sister Anna’s lunch restaurant for almost two years now, and if there’s one thing he’s learned about the business, it’s mandatory to be punctual. Sure, someone could fill in for him if he’s late by a couple of minutes, but in a trade where customer satisfaction meets short delivery times it’s best to keep things moving smoothly.

Castiel is not the only one of the Novak siblings to work at Anna’s, but he’s the latest to join. When the restaurant hit a rough spot a couple of years ago, they introduced food delivery services for elderly people, and that’s when Gabriel decided to come in. No matter how crass and unprofessional Gabriel could seem outside work, he absolutely charms every elderly person he meets. Castiel sometimes takes delivery shifts with him, but he’s always been more useful making food than small talk.

Today, it’s meatloaf day. Castiel starts by chopping onions and carefully crying so he won’t ruin the goods. It’ll take a good half an hour to get enough onions for the amount of food he needs to make, but he agrees with Anna — frozen, chopped onions taste like garbage compared to freshly cut ones.

When he throws the first batch into the pan to sweat them in olive oil, Anna comes in through the swinging doors.

“Hello, dear,” he says idly, not raising his gaze. “All good?”

“Yes. How did it go?”

Anna takes Castiel’s place by the stove, so he ventures towards the fridge to grab the meat. “It went really well. I didn’t know what I expected of Ms. MacLeod, but I am pleasantly surprised by her personality.”

“When will you be starting?”

“There’s a staff meeting tomorrow I need to attend. I guess I’ll know more after that.”

“Great. I’m really happy for you, brother,” Anna says, bumping him playfully on the side as he returns to take his previous cooking spot back. “You’ll be out of my cafe in no time.”

“I would never abandon you,” Castiel says slowly. “You need me.”

“You _so_ would, asshat. But I love you anyway, so you’re already forgiven.”

When Anna returns to the front, Castiel turns off the heat and combines the onions with the minced meat. He frowns at his hands while they go through the motions, thinking back to when he started working for Anna. He had learned to cook from their mother, but that had been the first time he’d really had to put his skill to good use; suddenly, he’d had to cook not only for customers of the restaurant but for elderly citizens all around Boston. All of his fears of not being good enough vanished soon — not that he’d received fanmail, but at least there wasn’t any increase in complaints.

There had been a time in Castiel’s life when he’d never have undertaken a job like this. Ever since he could walk, he’d wanted to dance — and since he was privileged enough to live in a wealthy home, he was allowed dance lessons. He started out with ballet, and only strayed from that path when he had a teenage ballroom phase. He gained fame by winning nationals two times and coming home with a silver from internationals.

But ballet is a ruthless field, and soon enough Castiel was no longer needed in shows or competitions; when he was twenty he was kindly told to make way for new faces. It didn’t bother him too much — it was the name of the game.

That’s when he was introduced to lyrical dance by some of the best, also retired, people in the industry. He soon had only one goal in mind: one day finding his place in contemporary theater circles. Many of those dancers, Alfie and Kelly in particular, still call him every now and then. Most of them had to learn how to lead an ‘ordinary’ life after one filled with only dancing.

Rowena, obviously, knows Castiel from ballet circles, but it’s more likely for the other dancers to know him as a particularly competitive (and winning) dancer on _So You Think You Can Dance._ That had him busy until the next winner came, but didn’t bring him closer to his dream of something more dramatic.

Until now, that is. Sure, Rowena made it known very early on that she couldn’t pay him a lot until they saw how well they’d do. It doesn’t worry Castiel too much — he has a decent amount of savings in a separate bank account in case push comes to shove. He just wants to finally fulfill a lifelong dream, and if his name can help bring the theater and its dancers to the surface, he’s happy to help.

While thinking about his past, he’s managed to bring a giant pot of water to boil and he now adds the potatoes. He puts the first two roasting pans in the oven and prepares the salad while he waits for the potatoes to be ready.

As soon as Castiel starts mashing the potatoes, he feels shivers run down his spine. Instinctively he looks around, only to see he’s still alone. He raises his hand to his forehead to see if he’s coming down with a fever that’d explain the ongoing chills, but feeling nothing alarming he turns back towards his food. However, the more he thinks about the situation and his surroundings the more he feels like he’s being watched.

 

#

Friday brings forth rain.

Castiel feels stiffness and ache in his muscles and he quietly reprimands himself for letting his body get to the point when even a slight increase in dancing ends with him up in pain. He makes a mental note to practice as often as possible, and after a quick morning yoga he’s ready to take on the meeting with his new colleagues.

Even though he’s early, he’s not the first one to arrive. He can see a small figure sitting on the edge of the stage, and upon further inspection, he’s pretty sure it’s Charlie Bradbury. They’d met at the filming of _So You Think You Can Dance,_ but she’d had to quit due to some personal issues. If she hadn’t, Castiel’s pretty sure she’d have won.

“Hello,” Castiel says politely, unsure if Charlie remembers him after a couple of years. His fear is pointless — the grin that appears on her face is instant and genuine.

“Castiel!” she yelps and comes in for a hug, which he happily obliges. “Oh my god, I thought we’d never see each other again.”

“I’m glad you were mistaken,” Castiel hums. Charlie grabs her stuff, gestures for him to follow and heads to the rear of the stage that leads into the back rooms.

“I haven’t heard from you recently. What have you been up to?” she asks. The hallways are narrow and Castiel knows he’s going to get lost in here, but he adores the architecture of the old building.

“Not much,” he admits, “pretty much just been helping my sister out with her business. Surprisingly dance-free life.”

“Hope you still got the moves, though. There’s everything at stake here,” she says, but her voice sounds carefree enough to signal that there’s no reason to stress just yet.

“How about you? What have you been doing since you left the competition?”

“There’s a time and a place for why I left, but it’s not this,” she sighs, gesturing with her hand. “We need to focus all our energy on the meeting. If you buy me a cup of coffee sometime, we can talk more. It’s all good now, though. I have a beautiful fiancee that I’m planning to marry in the summer. I’ll introduce you, she works here too.”

“Congratulations! I’m happy for you.”

“What about you? Anything keeping you grounded besides working for your sister?”

“If you’re referring to relationships, no. I don’t…” He falls silent. Charlie throws him a smile.

“Another conversation for that coffee date then?”

“Definitely,” he sighs. “Maybe it’s best to keep the conversation light for now.”

She nods and pushes open the double doors that take them to what seems to be a conference room. There’s a man sitting at the far end of the table already, and a woman behind him is measuring coffee into a moka pot.

“Hello, bitches,” Charlie says, “this here is our newest protege, Castiel. Castiel, these are Kevin and Dorothy. Dorothy’s mine.”

“Ah, the fiancee. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“I know your face,” Kevin says without raising his gaze from his phone once. “Where do I know you from?”

“Same as me,” Charlie informs, “Dancing on TV.”

“You’re the winner! That’s right. Novak, I recall?”

Castiel nods.

“It’s interesting to see how well your dynamics work with Baz,” Dorothy says, finally coming to Castiel for a firm handshake. “He’s the diva.”

“Two big egos in the house, that’s right,” Kevin says, still a bit absent. “Just like old times.”

There’s an awkward silence that can only be caused by an elephant walking into the room. Castiel fidgets with the cuff button of his jacket to distract himself.

“Well, I can’t wait to see you dance,” Dorothy says. Castiel nods absently and opens his mouth to come up with another vague anecdote about nothing in particular, but the sound of heels clacking in the hallway stops him.

Rowena opens the door with a loud slap of her palms. Two more people are following her in.

“Hello, children! Oh, Castiel. Nice of you to have made it back here.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you for having me.”

“Okay, gather around then, wee ones. Take your seats and let’s have a round of introductions. Do you remember names at one go, Castiel, or do we have to do an embarrassing play date game?”

“I’ll make do,” he answers with a short bow of his head before taking a seat on the chair closest to him. Charlie sits down next to him, playfully jabbing his side with her elbow. A blond man sits across from him and they lock eyes for a moment before the guy freaking _scoffs_ and rolls his eyes.

This is Balthazar, the other big ego in the house. As to what size Castiel’s own is, he cannot say.

“As I told you all, I approached Castiel after we felt ready to continue with the production of Giselle. Yesterday, he came to tell me he wants to join us,” Rowena says. She’s the only one still standing — she’s taken the end of the table and leaned forward on his spread fingers.  “I can’t tell you to instantly like him, but I want you to give him a shot.”

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses and got us a big name,” Balthazar says, basically purring, before reaching out his hand for Castiel to shake. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

“Well, high horses don’t pay the bills,” Rowena huffs. “Besides, Castiel’s every bit the artist I am, despite his name. This is all just bantering, dear. Please don’t think I consider you anything else than extraordinary.”

“I know. I’ve fought my way here, and I’m not afraid.”

A spark crosses Balthazar’s eyes at that. He’s intrigued, although he tries to hide it. Castiel frowns and lets his gaze fall to the table.

“Alright, from over here, this is Charlie, Dorothy, Kevin, Jo, and Balthazar,” Rowena says, gesturing to each person as she says their name, “We’re one short, though. Where’s Jess?”

“Had some family business to attend to,” the blond girl next to Balthazar, Jo Harvelle, says. “She should be fine, but there’s still some stuff to sort out with the-”

“Yes, I know what you mean, no need to say more. So, like I said, we are performing Giselle. I’m hoping we could nail down a date today,”  Rowena proceeds. “I was hoping somewhere mid-August. Thoughts?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Charlie says, “we talked about how rushed the schedule is, so we just need to put the work in.”

“I think it’s ridiculous,” Balthazar starts, and in a second everyone’s talking at the same time. Castiel immediately realizes it’s impossible to keep up with all of the voices so he only concentrates on Rowena’s. He needs to stay on on the boss’ good side for the time being.

 

#

After an hour of what’s mostly yelling, Castiel’s left alone to catch up with a particularly fascinating version of Giselle from 1983. Like he would’ve guessed in the first place, no amount of talking-to or convincing would turn Rowena’s head and thus they’ll have to premiere on August 16th. It’s not too bad, because with enough diligence Castiel could move mountains -- and learning a role, especially if it’s a contemporary take, is definitely attainable for him.

The problem is that no matter how much he’d tried to downplay himself, Rowena was adamant in casting him in the role of Albrecht, the prince who falls in love with Giselle and ends in torment after her death. Most of his new colleagues agreed with their leader, too — why not use the big name in one of the most important roles? — but he couldn’t shake the feeling of taking something that doesn’t belong to him. These people have already put everything on the line for Rowena’s theater to succeed, and for him to waltz right in and claim the role doesn’t feel right.

Then again, it had already been his predecessor’s planned role, so it makes sense.

The old rattling VHS tape is delightful. The performance is from St Petersburg, Soviet Union, with the talented Galina Mezentseva as Giselle; she’s always been an inspiration for Castiel mainly due to her improvisational skills, and he knows that’s why Rowena made him watch it now. They’re going to need to throw themselves fully in the story and theatrics to nail this the way they intend to.

Like always with Giselle, Castiel ends up crying at the end. When the system clicks and starts rewinding the tape, he rubs his eyes with his palms and sighs — and then, for the first time since hearing about this theater, he feels grateful. Although being around Rowena MacLeod automatically makes him feel honored, he hasn’t been certain how he’ll fill someone else’s shoes in such a tight-knit group. Still, being able to tell a story this powerful… It’s incredible.

He collects his bag from the ground, unplugs the TV system and hits the lights before exiting the conference room. The hallways are just as messy as they were getting here, but then, there’s music.

A quiet piano song emanates from somewhere further away; the stage, Castiel thinks idly. He follows the sound through the halls, trying to make mental notes about the way back, and eventually makes his way to the rear of the stage.

It’s not empty. There’s a man dancing to the music and from the first sight of him, Castiel is captivated. The man is young, probably around his age, wearing street clothes like he just popped into the theater --  and the way he moves is something rare, almost foreign to Castiel. It’s like he doesn’t completely touch the ground as he leaps and twirls and bounces, perfectly in time with the notes. There’s some roughness to the edges of his moves, but it’s well balanced with finesse elsewhere, and the raw emotion present even without lyrics in the song has Castiel on the verge of tears — and he’s not even fully done crying about Giselle.

For now, the man is performing for an invisible audience, his back mostly towards Castiel and lights shining around his strong limbs whenever they reach out. It’s truly a beautiful sight. Castiel can’t decide whether he should just enjoy the view of a talented dancer for as long as he possibly can, dealing with the consequences later, or walk out loudly enough for the man to notice.

The choice is taken away from him.

The music stops, and as soon as the man gets up from the ground where he just did a split, he turns towards Castiel. And just like that, whatever ethereal image he had already formed about the dancer is shattered.

“The fuck you ogling at?”

Castiel blinks. “Uh, I was just leaving. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The guy frowns, opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut again. “You were leaving?”

Castiel nods, gestures towards the door and starts walking across the stage. The man catches up to him.

“I guess it’s fair, though. I watched you dance yesterday, you watched me dance today. Even, Steven.”

“I didn’t see you-”

“You don’t pay attention to much but yourself, do you,” he huffs. “I was right here. You’ve gotten rusty.”

“You know who I am, I presume?”

“Well, obviously. Who doesn’t know the mighty Novak.”

They exit through the main doors into the continuing rain together. Castiel blinks up at the sky, and then turns his gaze to the man still walking next to him. There’s a strange atmosphere around him; some of the ethereal being Castiel just witnessed on stage is still obviously present on his face — his long, dark lashes, freckles and eyes green enough to stun a weaker spirit — but besides that, he’s tough attitude and mixed signals. He seems appalled by Castiel’s very existence, but not enough to not follow him as he walks down the street.

The combination has Castiel intrigued. It’s refreshing to meet someone who sees him as something else besides Castiel Novak, the _frankly an absolute dream_. When he was younger, all he received was critique after critique after critique, but that was to make him a better performer. Obviously, this is not what the guy here has in mind.

“Look, I’m sorry if you feel like I was spying on you. I really liked your style, though,” Castiel says eventually. “Why didn’t you talk to me yesterday?”

The man looks like he’s weighing his options before muttering something under his breath. Castiel squints, unsure whether to ask about it, but shrugs it off when the guy keeps on talking.

“So you’re Albrecht? I would’ve imagined they’d take someone younger to counter Charlie’s performance as Giselle. Then again, I guess it makes sense for Rowena to take the most popular dancer in a leading role. It’s not like you could be Giselle, either, because that’s been Charlie’s part from the very beginning.”

“Uh, with all due respect, I don’t know if I should be discussing anything regarding the theater with a person that doesn’t belong in the group. I don’t even know who you are, apart from a dancer, obviously.”

“What makes you think I don’t belong in the group?”

They frown at each other for a beat. “You weren’t in the meeting. I made the assumption based on that. Am I mistaken?”

There’s a flash of hurt in the guy’s face, but it’s gone before Castiel can grip it.

“No, you’re not mistaken.”

“Okay. Uh, well,” Castiel tries to form a sentence that isn’t _then what the hell were you doing at the theater_ , but falls flat.

“Did you sign a non-disclosure? Why can’t you talk?”

“I literally don’t know who you are. I’m not trying to offend you, it’s just that I really need to respect the person I work for.” As they stop in front of Anna’s restaurant, Castiel extends his hand. “So let’s start with a name, okay? I’m Castiel.”

The man looks at Castiel’s hand and leans in as if he’s going to take it, but then shoves both of his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Dean. I’m Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Castiel sighs and mirrors his posture by pocketing his own hands. “And I don’t mean to sound rude, but you’ve followed me for five blocks now. Can I help you somehow?”

Dean shakes his head and looks around slowly. “I don’t think so, no.”

“In that case, I’ll… I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah. See you, or something.”

Dean lets his shoulders slump and walks away. Castiel knows he should feel relieved that this odd encounter came to an end, but instead, he feels like he just make a huge mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Castiel sees Dean is after their first rehearsal on Monday.

He spent most of the weekend watching different versions of Giselle. He wants to know it well enough to really channel his character, to be able to make suggestions, and to stay on everyone’s good side. Judging by their behavior towards him during practice, he’s succeeding.

It’s about halfway into their second quick dance-through that Castiel notices Dean in the audience. Because Charlie has just been reprimanded for not paying enough attention, he doesn’t even consider asking why they’re allowing audience in their practices. Dean had given Castiel absolutely nothing to work with; it might be that he’s related to Rowena and planning to make his debut soon. Maybe he’s a spare and will be pulled in if someone needs to drop out. Or maybe-

Castiel’s line of thought is stopped by Rowena gently slapping him in the arm.

“It would do well for you to pay attention, honey,” she mutters. “I’m not big on second chances.”

 

 

 

They finish up for the day, and Castiel makes sure he’s the last one to leave. Dean slowly walks up to him while he puts his socks and shoes back on, and when he’s on the stage, he crosses his arms almost awkwardly.

“Barefoot dancing?”

“Yes.”

“That we at least agree on.”

“Are you permitted in here?”

“I give myself permission whenever I feel like it.”

“And you feel like it whenever we practice, I take it.”

“Well, yes. It’s not like I have anything better to do when I can’t use the stage myself.”

Castiel gets up with a grunt. His ankle feels a little off since he landed slightly wrong, but it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle to deal with. Maybe he’ll tape it up.

“Fair enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, your ego getting too big for the two of us again or what is it?”

Castiel frowns. “Dean, can I ask you something?”

“Well, I guess.”

“Do you have something against me?”

Dean scrunches his nose and looks into the distance for a while. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know you as a person, but I do think having a pretentious ass for a star isn’t going to end up well for Rowena.”

Castiel sighs and finishes up packing. He throws his trench coat over his dancing clothes and makes his way to the exit. He can hear Dean following him, and he’s about to snap at him for doing so — but then again, he was the one making his leave slowly enough, enabling Dean to come up to him.

“Yet you still seem oddly interested,” he sighs instead. They start walking along the same sidewalk as last time; this time, it’s not raining.

“I have my reasons.”

“Okay, Dean. I’m a people person. I don’t tell people to fuck off if they rub me the wrong way. So you go on and annoy me as much as you want, but you’ve got to tell me something — I don’t even care what it is. I know nothing of you.”

“I’m a dancer,” Dean says slowly.

“That’s a start. Who are you dancing for?”

They stop at the red light, and Castiel turns to look at Dean. There’s a split second during which Dean looks back at him, and they share a mutual, silent understanding of how odd it is for them to be talking to each other in the first place. Then, Dean averts his eyes and shrugs.

“I don’t know. Nobody, anymore.”

Castiel nods. He feels a curiosity towards Dean more than anything else — including annoyance — and since it’s been a long time since he felt anything like that towards a stranger, he’s willing to keep on. He wants to ask what the reason is behind Dean choosing Castiel to vaguely insult and randomly chat with, and he wants to tap into the sadness emanating from him and find the source of it.

“My shitty brother wants me to go get some supplies from the southeast,” he starts, “you wouldn’t be interested in coming with me?”

Dean frowns. “How far away is it?”

“Dorchester.”

“In miles?”

“I would say six.”

“I-,” and there it is again, the look of sadness so deep Castiel’s breath catches, “I don’t know.”

Castiel opens his mouth to ask about the change in Dean’s tone, but something stops him. He knows there won’t be an answer, but for some reason he wants to dig Dean out of his sadness pile. Ideally, he would like to make Dean smile, at least once.

As to why he’s suddenly feeling like this, he doesn’t have an answer.

“Well, I’m taking the Red Line from here,” Castiel ventures, gesturing towards the station. “You’re welcome to tag along.”

“I can try,” Dean says hesitantly, and nods as if to convince himself.

They make their way down to the subway platform in silence, and as soon as they board the train, Dean talks. His voice is low, private, obviously meant for Castiel only.

“I used to come here sometimes. I used to buy a ticket and ride the subway until I felt nauseated. I used to love to just watch the people going about their day-to-day life, not realizing what they have.”

“What do they have?”

Dean frowns and looks out the window pointlessly — they’re in a tunnel — but Castiel gets the message. Letting Dean continue on his own accord, he leans back in his chair and gazes around the car. It’s not a particularly busy time of the day, but there are enough people to have him wish he was somewhere more secluded with Dean.

 _With a stranger_ , Castiel keeps on reminding himself. _Why would you want to be somewhere private with a stranger?_

“But I don’t do that anymore. I don’t have that longing I used to have back when I was new at this.”

“You must know you talk in riddles, Dean,” Castiel mutters. “Not that I mind, of course, but you can’t expect me to understand everything you say.”

“I’m just glad you’re listening,” Dean answers. Their eyes meet and for a scary couple of seconds, the air between them is filled with an unknown force — probably the same one that makes the world spin and the suns burn. Castiel’s chest fills with something heavy and he has to look away.

“Has nobody listened to you?”

“Not in a long time.”

“I’m sorry.”

They travel silently for a couple more stops before jumping off at Cedar Grove station. When they emerge from the darkness of underground facilities and into the light of the day, Dean looks around suspiciously. For a fleeting moment Castiel wonders whether he’s a wanted criminal.  He finds it disturbing how little he cares.

“We need to get spices, mostly,” Castiel says to ground both Dean and himself, “Anna, my sister and the owner of the restaurant I work in, is adamant about getting them fresh from a market.”

“Anna? From Anna’s Place in Beacon Hill?” Dean asks.

“That would be her.”

“Oh my god,” Dean says, and for the first time, his voice is full of emotion that isn’t sadness or nonchalance. “She’s the best chef I’ve ever met. Her burgers are to die for. Wait-”

“I follow her recipes, but I get to cook,” Castiel says with a nod. “You might’ve already had something made by me.”

Dean groans. “Why do you have to be a good cook?”

“What?”

Dean contemplates before continuing. “I am determined not to find you nice,” he ventures, “just because you’re the only person that can hear- that listens to me.”

Castiel lets the odd choice of words slide, setting it on the back burner of his mind for now. “Well, it must suck to realize not everything is black and white.”

“To be honest, I wish _something_ was.”

“Riddles again.”

“That’s what you’re stuck with, yeah,” Dean says, shrugging, “you’re not a dream either.”

“So you keep saying, but you’re still sticking with me.”

A car passes them then — Castiel’s attention is away from Dean for a split second, and when he turns back, he’s alone.

 

#

Since Castiel is free on Tuesday, he decides to get out of his apartment. He packs some coffee in a thermos and crackers and grapes in a small box, checks his gear, and takes the bus to Lynn Woods. On a weekday morning the reservation is not too full, but it’s not like he’d mind either way — it’s huge enough for him to be able to find a secluded spot if that’s what he’s looking for.

He tries to warm up his body and muscles during the walk to the cliffs. As soon as he’s there, he ties himself up and sets his mind to the first grappling point.

He’s been rock climbing since he was twelve. One of the older dancers in the school he was attending suggested it as a method to balance out all the hours spent indoors, and he had been pleased to find that the efforts also helped develop his muscle. Nowadays, he only goes to parks for climbing purposes when he wants to think.

After a couple of grapples, his head already feels clearer. He can deal with his insecurities about being the new kid in class, and if he focuses his energy and arranges his schedule right, it doesn’t matter how soon Rowena wants them to be ready. He won’t fail.

Dean is a distraction he wasn’t expecting to encounter. He’s not the type of person who gets interested in others beyond professional levels, but even though Dean dances like he’s flying, Castiel’s infatuation with him is purely on a personal level. Dean feels like a breath of fresh air after years of kiss-asses and jealous people — it’s like it’s completely irrelevant to him who Castiel is.

He throws the next grapple in almost angrily. He doesn’t want to group his acquaintances over the years into an either/or spectrum, because that wouldn’t be fair to any of them.

Why did Dean leave, though? There’s something Castiel’s missing, and he knows it well enough for it to annoy him just a little — something about how Dean had said he can _try_ to come along to Dorchester. Castiel doesn’t feel close enough to the guy yet to simply ask about it the next time they bump into each other, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try to lure info out discreetly.

When he’s on top of the hill, his mind is already blank. Nothing beats the feeling of air in his winded lungs, and nothing beats the sight of the sun over the treetops before him. This is not a tall rock formation; it only rises just over the trees, but the steep climb compensates for it by making Castiel’s muscles sing in short-lived agony. He eats some of the crackers while admiring the view, then makes his way back down and hopes his calm will last.

 

The following night, Castiel dreams.

He dreams of bright spotlights, headlights and strobe lights that thrum inside his skull while his heart beats rapidly in anticipation of something that never comes. He can’t figure out what it is, exactly — it’s like he’s standing on a precipice with his past behind him and the only way to proceed is forwards. Keeping on, though, would include a leap, and for once in his life, he’s terrified to make it.

Even in his dream it feels almost cornily metaphorical, but he fears what it means that for the first time in forever he’s anxious. The feeling is not unlike the times he performed as a child with his parents, teachers, and tutors all having their eyes on him; but still, it’s a lot more private somehow. That was anxiousness combined with all his peers and his loved ones, while this is just his to bear alone.

A figure appears next to him. He remembers who the face belongs to, but can’t place a name for them anymore. They say nothing, just point into the distance. Castiel follows the line of their finger, and there’s a bridge there. When he turns back to the person it slowly morphs into Dean, and that should be scary, but Castiel feels an immense relief that deepens when Dean holds out his hand for Castiel to take. They walk towards the bridge together, hand in hand, and Castiel feels his heartbeat calm.

Then, the picture changes. They’re at an old house that looks abandoned, but the more Castiel looks around, the more it takes the shape of an old asylum. There’s one in Boston, and it looks somewhat like this — but he can also see images from movies he’s watched, and there’s even backdrops of Giselle’s first act around. The paint on them is still wet as he presses his hand against it.

“I’m dying,” Dean whispers, looking out the window on the far end of the hallway they’re standing in. “I’ve been dying since the day I met me.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asks, but his words come out slow and warped — he can only voice out syllables of the words he needs to ask.

“My fingers are paper clips,” Dean says, and his voice echoes through the narrow walls. In this dream, the explanation is imperative, and Castiel understands it perfectly. _Oh. That’s why you’re dying. Your fingers are paper clips._

“I’m sorry,” he says, and coughs. Is there something coming out of his throat? Why is it so hard to speak?

“Don’t be. You get to dance until sunrise.”

“Are you her?” Castiel asks. Dean shakes his head and begins to turn around, and a dread fills Castiel’s whole body — he knows that the second Dean’s fully turned, he will see something terrible. He rips his gaze away.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his voice stuck in his throat, but this time he’s awakened by it.

For a moment, he lies silently in the darkness, listening to his breathing. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but there’s traffic outside his window.He shakes his body to free himself of the ominous feeling of something terrible happening.

He needs to see Dean soon, because if he wasn’t worried before, his subconscious surely makes him rethink that.

#

The next couple of days travel by with not much fuss. The theater group meets for practice on every other day, and both on those days and the ones in between Castiel works in Anna’s restaurant.

Castiel doesn’t see Dean around, which is both a good and a bad thing. On one hand, he needs all his focus on Rowena, who insists they all forget that they have any life besides that of Giselle’s, but on the other hand he starts to get worried. He plans to spend evenings at the theater alone just in case Dean shows up, but more often than not, he’s stuck doing Gabriel’s work for him.

It’s mostly fine. Some of his elderly customers are silent, and some are too talkative for his delivery schedule. He hears interesting stories about the people’s lives, their neighbors, their daily routines, and dancing too if he mentions it. One of his favorite customers is a posh lady in her nineties, and her stories are about her life as a flamenco dancer for the sailors. Of course, Castiel guesses at least half of the stories are colored in or entirely untrue, but it doesn’t make them any less pleasurable to hear while he heats up soup, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, or stew for her.

But the most breathtaking of all is the couple that’s last on the delivery round. It seems like Gabriel has chosen them specially for this place; there’s a little work to be done here and there each day, such as hanging the clothes out to dry and doing the dishes, and that’s why Castiel spends extra time with these customers. It isn’t particularly included in Castiel or Gabriel’s line of work to do chores, but Gabriel had specifically asked him to help out around the house a little, so he isn’t going to argue. Besides, the stories the couple shared are some of the greatest love stories he’d ever heard.

It’s no wonder. The man follows the woman around like she’s the sun his universe circles around. She pretends to ignore him most of the time, but some of the words he whispers to her (that are obviously meant to be private but come out too loud because old age has done its tricks to both of their ears) make her smile wide and blush like she’s still a young girl.

Mostly, they talk about traveling. In that specific method of storytelling which includes them finishing each other’s sentences, they reminisce their way through the canals of Venice and the jungles of Amazon. They had both been photo journalists once, and that’s how they ended up together in the first place. With all their children and grandchildren grown up and out in the world, they’re left in a loft apartment by themselves. It’s an amazing life, a complete window to the past so full of emotion that it makes Castiel wish he could bottle some of the feelings and add it to his performance as a dancer; he’s yet to experience romantic love. To perfectly capture Albrecht he should, of course, know how stuff like that works and what it feels like to truly love.

When he leaves the elderly couple, he decides to call Charlie. She answers immediately.

“Hi, Cas! We were just talking about you. What’s up?”

“I’m out right now,” he starts and Charlie snorts.

“Well, good. Never thought you were the closet type of gay anyway.”

“If you would,” Castiel says calmly, rolling his eyes fondly. The good feeling he always had about Charlie hasn’t faded, and he’s determined to make her a friend.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Go on, sorry.”

“I would like to talk to my Giselle. Is that coffee invitation still valid?”

“Of course, Albrecht. I’ll be ready in half an hour. Meet you at Starbucks on Beacon Street at four?”

“It’ll be crowded. I’ll go already, save you a seat.”

“Great. Do you want to meet alone? Jo’s here, she’s just leaving. I could ask her.”

“I’d… If it’s okay, I’d rather meet you alone. I want to talk some personal stuff.”

“Of course. See you soon! Order me a soy chai latte if you get to it.”

 

Like Castiel predicted, it’s rush hour at one of the most popular Starbucks cafes in Boston. He manages to get a table for them by a window after some waiting, but Charlie is just in time for her soy chai.

“Hi,” she says happily and squeezes both of Castiel’s hands for a moment — a gesture Castiel is learning to associate with her — before taking a seat by her drink.

“Hello. How are you?”

“Doing alright. We were just going through some details with Jo and Dorothy about the backdrops for the second act.”

“Was it a successful meeting?”

“Of course. We’re always successful. Because of Rowena’s lack of funding for props and clothes, we’re going to have to use what we have. It’ll require a lot of painting and creativity, but it should turn out to be fine.”

“I have no doubt. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do.”

“We need to take some mutual private lessons, I guess,” she muses and takes a sip from her undoubtedly scalding beverage, “there’s so many dances together. Can you pretend you’re into me?”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Go on.”

Castiel tastes the words in his mouth for a moment before speaking them. “I’ve never been in love.”

Charlie tilts her head, Castiel mirrors the movement. “Never been in love?”

“Never.”

“Why? Of course, you don’t owe me an explanation. I’m just wondering where this is headed.”

“I don’t feel attraction like that. I want us to be able to portray lovers, but I can’t tap into the feeling of being in love.”

Charlie takes another sip of her drink, and then another. She looks out the window, obviously deep in thought.

“I dropped out of the show because my depression started getting worse.”

Castiel says nothing. He tries to look Charlie in the eyes, but she’s determined to get her story told without looking at him.

“I didn’t feel like I could portray all the emotions necessary since I felt nothing. I tried to fake it for a couple of weeks, but honestly? Soon enough, it became too much for me.”

“I had no idea.”

“Don’t worry. I made sure nobody had any idea. I was determined to make it out alone. Of course, I didn’t, but that’s why I ended up meeting Dorothy, so. Not all bad, huh?”

“I’m really glad you met her. She seems sweet.”

“She’s terrible. She’s mean, and overwhelming, and way too adventurous, and exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

Castiel hums and takes a sip from his drink before continuing. “How did you manage it? Pretending you felt something you didn’t?”

“It wasn’t easy. I tapped into the feelings of relief and fear that luckily never left me. As for you, right now, I’d say… How did you feel when we met after years?”

He squints, considering. “I was happy. It was a pleasant surprise.”

“I think if you remember the happy, elated feeling of meeting _moi_ after years, it’ll pass as love. And it’s a thing you felt for _me_ , which also helps.”

Castiel remembers the feeling well, but the more he tries to grip into it, the more his mind wanders to Dean. Had he been watching him during his first time on that stage? Had he been behind Rowena, when, for a moment, Castiel had been sure someone else was there?

And why is he watching Castiel if he doesn’t really care about him?

“One more thing you should know,” Charlie says, as if on an afterthought,  “I advise you to keep an eye on Balthazar. He might have some tricks up his sleeve for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He likes you, that’s for certain. And when he likes people, he might end up… Trying to challenge them.”

Castiel nods. “That’s nothing new, I’ve had my fair share of people like that. Thank you for informing me, though.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually, Dean returns.

They’ve gone through some of the dance scenes Charlie and Castiel have together with Balthazar, who plays the huntsman, and Rowena, who ended up wanting to play the role of Giselle’s mother herself. Apparently, it’s due to resemblance — both Rowena and Charlie are fiery haired, delicate, and exaggerated in their movements. It’s a delightful thing to see them dance together.

What’s even more delightful is to realize Castiel’s being stared at from the audience. He makes sure not to let Dean know he knows he’s being observed; he doesn’t want to seem too obviously happy to see the guy again. He’s completely given up wondering what brings these thoughts up for him in the first place, so he focuses his attention to dancing: extends his limbs a bit further, leaps a little higher, and adds a little more edge to the drama. 

He’s pleased with himself. 

After the practice, they do stretches and pack up their stuff. Before leaving, Charlie walks next to Castiel, scrutinizing him.

“You seem to be doing well,” she says slowly. “Did my mentoring get to you already?”

“I seem to be on a good mood,” Castiel says, pointedly still keeping his eyes away from the seats of the audience, “is it showing?”

“Yes, it is. I just… You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

“Of course,” he says. Charlie opens her mouth to say something else, but shakes her head then. 

“That’s all I wanted you to know. Have a good one.”

Charlie’s the last one to leave, and after that, Castiel finally looks at Dean. He tilts his head for a hello, and gets off his seat. Castiel walks to the edge of the stage and sits down.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says slowly.

“Hello, Dean. Fancy running into you here.”

“Is it?”

“You disappeared on me. I was worried.”

Dean blinks. “Did you worry about me?”

Castiel shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant even though he’s sure his heart is beating a little faster just at the sight of this marvelous being. “I guess I did.”

Dean sits down next to him and for a moment, they look at their feet dangling in the air.

“I meant to not return at all, to be honest,” Dean says then, his voice low, “before I met you, I thought I was fine with not being listened to. Apparently, I’m hooked to it after talking with you twice.”

“Everyone has the right to be listened to, Dean. And if, for some reason, you don’t have anyone in your life you can speak to that isn’t me, I find your company soothing -- despite your desire to not find me nice.”

Dean scoffs. “Nobody has ever called me soothing before.”

“It’s the fact that you’re not overwhelmed by my success as a dancer. I know it sounds a bit self-centered, but it’s been a while since anyone’s thought of me as a person. Either I’m a talented artist, or I’m a threat to all society with my flamboyant moves and ability to snatch any dance profession from people that deserve it more than I do.”

“Yeah, well. You’re average at best.”

They both huff out a laugh.

“How’s everyone coming along? Is Balthazar giving you a hard time?”

“You’re not the first person to mention that, but no, he’s not. So far, we’re playing together well.”

“He’ll get to you soon enough,” Dean says with a light chuckle, and then raises his gaze towards the ceiling. The lights coming from their left accentuate Dean’s profile, framing him with greens and whites, and for a second, he’s every bit as ethereal as he was when he was dancing. Castiel wonders if he could ask Dean to dance again.

“I…” His voice feels thick, so he tries to clear his throat. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

Dean mouths out the word ‘coffee’ before answering. “I’ve had way too much coffee today, but if you want to have some, I can accompany you.”

“That would be lovely. I can get takeaway and we can walk through the Public Garden. It’s a beautiful day.”

 

After getting a grande cup of coffee from Starbucks, Castiel and Dean make their way to the garden. They walk in comfortable silence that’s sometimes interrupted by observations of their surroundings, and when they finally sit down on a bench under a tree, Castiel feels calmer than he has in ages. It’s not like he’d been jumpy to begin with, but something about Dean’s presence reminds him of things he never knew he missed. The feeling of comfortable silences, of home, and of knowing he doesn’t have to  _ try _ anything. It’s like rummaging through his childhood home storage and finding something that he’d forgotten even though it used to be a crucial part of him.

“So,” Castiel starts. “You seem to know the dance group pretty well. Is there something I need to know about them?”

“Hmm,” Dean considers for a moment, watching a boat pass them by on the pond, “Charlie’s amazing, but I take it you know her already. Jess is trouble, but in a good way. She’s the pranking type, but they’re harmless. I think her-”

Dean swallows around a  lump in his throat before continuing. 

“Her boyfriend is a bad influence on her, encouraging that behavior. I would beware of those two. Uh, and then there’s Balthazar. Real competitive, but a decent guy. Only tried to jump my bones once. No, that sounds mean. But he did try to seduce me.”

“See, this is where it gets a bit weird for me. You talk well about these people, and from what I’ve observed myself, I think they’re decent to say the least. So why don’t you hang out with them? It’s hard to believe they wouldn’t listen to you.”

“It’s not that simple. I’d rather not venture into that.”

“Are you in trouble? Is there something I could do to help?”

“No, I don’t think I am. Cas, could we just talk like this? There’s nothing… There’s nothing for you to fix.”

“Of course.”

“Besides, why would you want to go the extra mile? I literally told you I don’t want to think well of you the last time we met.”

Castiel shrugs. “I feel like an outsider, to be honest. All those people have an established relationship to each other. I know I have some kind of a friendship with Charlie, but still… I’m a stranger in a strange land with those people. And you’re here, and you’re alone too, and you see me as a person.”

“I sure as hell don’t see you as a dancer, that’s for sure,” Dean huffs, but there’s a glint in his eye. “And as for that other stuff… Thanks, I guess. Thanks for taking the time for me.”

Castiel looks towards the pond for a while, and lets his thoughts wander to the nightmare he had the other day. Would it be too much to talk about that with Dean? He’s never been the type to share dreams, and the leap to start that now seems like too much.  He’s about to turn back to Dean again, but there’s a strange flickering in his peripheral vision — with a pang of dread he wonders if he’s actually dreaming again, whether stress he didn’t even know he had suddenly made him sleepwalk or have night terrors or made it impossible for him to know the difference between dream and reality.

He shakes his head to clear it, and looks at Dean, who’s looking back at him with a frown on his face.

“You alright there, pal?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m sorry. I just… Have been riddled with nightmares lately and for a moment, I couldn’t get away from them.”

“I used to get those too,” Dean replies, and quickly looks away from Castiel as if he’s saying more than he intended to, “when I had a hectic schedule, that is.”

“I don’t even think my schedule is that bad. I mean, sure, there’s a lot of dancing involved after a break that lasted longer than I would’ve liked it to.”

“And there’s work.”

“Yeah, and taking care of my brother’s chores while he’s too busy to handle them.”

“Cas, that sounds like too much.”

“I assure you, it isn’t,” Castiel says. Dean hums and watches him empty the remains of the coffee into his mouth. Castiel absently wonders whether Dean finds him as ethereal as Castiel finds Dean.

#

Balthazar’s true colors come out during the next practice.

They’re going through Hilarion’s solo dance, plus a couple of scenes with Jo, playing the role of Albrecht’s betrothed Bathilde. This gives Castiel some time to practice tricky leaps and to plan how to contrast them with terre à terre, close to the ground, moves. No matter how many times he watches Albrecht’s dance on video — and he usually ends his nights with that playing on the background while he brushes his teeth — he keeps on finding more and more places he needs to improvise. He can draw from his ballet experience as well as his lyrical one and that gives him freedom, but sometimes he also finds himself hoping for clearer directions. Rowena knows how to direct herself and how to improvise, but directing seven people on stage seems a little out of her league. 

And that’s what ultimately makes Balthazar talk to Castiel, too. It’s the first time he approaches Castiel to begin with, which makes it slightly awkward.

“Hello there, Mr. Novak,” he starts, and then gives him a slow once-over. “Practicing moves, I assume?”

“You weren’t finished with practicing yours yet, so I came here to see what I could do with the loose parts of the dance.”

He squints at that, running his fingertips on his jaw. “I would’ve thought you’d have your shit together by now, to be honest.”

“Oh, I do. There’s just transitions between harsh and soft, and the changes in tone depending on who I dance with.”

“Sounds like excuses to me,” Balthazar says with a flick of his wrist. “Look, I’m not trying to be an ass here. I just want you to do your best. There’s a lot at stake here.”

“I know there is. I took the responsibility when I agreed to participate. I know the burden is heavy and all of us have to play well together.”

“Let’s practice together now.”

“Huh?”

Balthazar moves towards the wall and gestures forward vaguely. “Look, I just found proof of your true identity, Albrecht. I’m going to show this goblet of fire to Giselle and everyone at the Harvest Festival. Come at me.”

“I don’t ‘come at you’, Hilarion, at any point. You try to seduce Giselle, I separate you two.”

“Look how the tides have turned, then. Improvise. Come at me,” Balthazar says, and bends his fingers as an invitation. Castiel roots himself mentally, wiggles his bare toes against the old wooden floor, and leaps into action.

If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d think they were practicing martial arts. He swings his leg towards Balthazar, who hops backwards and counters with a jab of his arm. There’s a good foot or two between them at all times so there’s no danger of doing real harm, but Castiel still gets to use his imagination while dodging the imaginary punches. Next, Balthazar backs off a couple steps before running towards him, and Castiel only barely avoids being kicked in the gut by twirling out of the way. He uses the momentum for an arabesque, almost landing a kick in Balthazar’s jaw before leaping backward as a precaution.

There’s certainty of practice in Balthazar’s dance that’s pleasurable to see. His movement is sharp and rolling, and it’s obvious he’s been dancing contemporary for years longer than Castiel has.

“I like your technique,” Castiel says while dodging under Balthazar’s swinging leg, “there’s so much I could learn from you.”

Balthazar laughs out loud.  “That’s mighty of you, admitting your defeat before we’re finished.”

“I didn’t say that.”

While Balthazar recovers from a punch he tried to throw, Castiel decides to go on full offense. He can’t deliver a perfect en pointe with bare feet, but he can get leverage from his height on his toes nonetheless. Balthazar lowers his gaze for a split second — to admire his footwork, no doubt — and Castiel uses it to crowd closer, throw a kick over his opponent’s head, obviously too high; and while Balthazar dodges that, Castiel uses his momentum to spin around and place his leg low next, successfully swiping Balthazar off his feet. He falls gracefully, because that’s the first thing you need to learn when you want to dance, he rolls over to his back and dramatically flops his limbs across the floor.

“You murdered me!” he yells. Castiel laughs.

“Thank you for the experience of murdering you, then,” he says and raises his gaze absently towards the audience. Dean’s standing close, leaning against the edge of the stage, a displeased expression on his face. Castiel tilts his head in question, but Dean pointedly looks away.

 

After they finish practice, Rowena wants to talk music.

“Obviously, since we’re aiming for a contemporary take here, we’re not going to use the original ballet music. First, I was planning to take it to myself to find musicians to make new versions, but now I’m uncertain of that as well. I think I could have a chat with ASCAP about our rights to play songs of our choosing.”

“Do you have a playlist ready?” Jo asks.

“No, I do not. We could discuss that together on a Friday meeting.”

“In case you need legal advice-” Jess starts, but Rowena raises her hand.

“I know who to ask. Your guy’s a lawyer, and trust me, we’re going to have to use him soon enough.”

Jess nods, obviously proud of her boyfriend. Castiel tries to fit the images of Jess’ boyfriend ‘the troublemaker’ (according to Dean) and Jess’ boyfriend ‘the lawyer’ into his head, and he’s starting to seem more and more like a person he should meet. 

“Anyway, that being said, we’re going to start to match songs for Act I during our next session. Now, you are dismissed, and I’ll see you Friday in our meeting.”

Since Castiel is going to swing by the restaurant and prepare food for a private party happening tomorrow, he bothers changing out of his sweaty clothes for once. As he gets into the dressing room intended for males (but used by everyone due to the ladies’ dressing room becoming a storage section for props), he feels he’s not alone. There’s no sound coming from inside, and he remembers saying goodbye to everyone already, so it might be unfounded — but no, the more he walks around the room, the more he becomes certain someone is watching him.

“Dean, is it you?” he asks. There’s a thud from somewhere up above — and as he tilts his head upwards to place it, he sees Dean sitting on top of the lockers. He waves with an enthusiasm unlike to him.

“Hey there.”

“Dean, what are you doing? How did you get there?”

“Climbing. I was waiting for you. How did it go today?”

“All good, but I guess you saw that already,” Castiel hums, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change my clothes.”

“Oh, by all means.”

“I’m not allowing you to watch me do that, Dean.”

Dean lifts his hands in mock surrender and spins around on his ass. Castiel turns as well before taking his shirt off.

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean admits then, “watched you dance with Balthazar. So, he asked you out yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s about to ask you out any day now. Gotta say, I don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“You, as a couple,” Dean mutters. “Two big personalities in one bed isn’t exactly an easy deal.”

“I assure you, I’ve got no interest in getting to his bed,” Castiel says, buttoning up his clean shirt before taking off his dancing pants. “Or anyone’s, for the matter.”

Dean shuts up with a ‘hmm’ while Castiel finishes dressing. Something in Dean’s presence makes him want to spill out all his thoughts and dreams to him, but he tries to bite his tongue to keep at least some of it inside.

“Thanks for the heads-up, though,” Castiel hears himself saying. “I can practice my polite decline.”

Dean laughs quietly and jumps off the lockers. “So, what’s the occasion? You don’t usually change in here.”

“That’s creepy, but I’m not asking. I need to go prepare things at the restaurant.”

“Great. Can I come? I’m bored.”

Castiel looks at Dean, who seems nothing but sincere — and excited. There’s no way in the world he would deny him access to what basically are private spaces when the guy looks like this.

“Of course. But it’s not free.”

They walk across the stage towards the main entrance.

“Dammit. I’ll bite. What is it?”

“You talk about yourself. Look, I know there’s a lot you’re hiding, but if we’re going to keep on hanging out like this, I’m going to need to know a thing or two about you. You get to decide what you tell, but I need something.”

“I guess I can-”

“Castiel?”

Charlie’s voice comes from behind them. Castiel turns around and sees her leaning against the side wall. She stands still for a beat longer before walking up to him.

“Hey, Charlie,” Castiel says casually, “what are you still doing here? Didn’t I already say goodbye to you?”

“I wanted to borrow the Kirov Ballet version of Giselle,” she says, gesturing backwards with her thumb. “Look, I know it might be your method of character or something, but I gotta ask since this is the second time I find you talking to yourself. Are you alright?”

Castiel frowns and turns around to introduce Dean to Charlie, but he’s nowhere to be found. He shakes his head in confusion.

“I mean, some people just do that, and there’s nothing about it if you’re one of those people, but I just got to know, dude, okay?”

“Of course,” Castiel says and laughs even though there’s nothing to laugh at — his chest feels suddenly really hollow and heavy at the same time. 

Charlie’s still scrutinizing him. “You… Sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I would let you know.”

“Thanks, Castiel,” she says and wraps her arms around herself. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

#

Castiel has no time to go over what happened at the theater, because as soon as he and Charlie part, Dean is with him again.

“Sorry for bailing,” he says, but obviously doesn’t mean it, “I didn’t mean to leave you in a pickle.”

“How’d you know it was a pickle if you weren’t there, Dean?”

Dean frowns and averts his gaze from Castiel’s. 

“I don’t know what to think,” Castiel sighs. “Is there… Is there something I need to know about you?”

“What exactly are you accusing me of? Being there though I wasn’t? Wiring you or Charlie or the stage?”

They take a sharp turn at the intersection and Castiel keeps his steps hurried. He’s overwhelmed, messed up and he doesn’t know what to answer. What could he possibly be accusing Dean of?

“You don’t tell me anything,” he starts. “You’re here, and you’re gone, and you’re gone for days. You speak of those people as if they’re your friends, but you don’t want to confront them. You talk as if you’re stuck in a situation where you can’t talk to anyone, or meet anyone, and nobody listens to you. Look. I am a person who would never judge you, but I would really appreciate if you gave me something to work with.”

Dean wraps his arms around his torso as if to compose himself. He opens his mouth to inhale, but says nothing. Castiel absently thinks about hugging him — he seems to be kind of lost.

“I will talk to you eventually. Let me just try to gather my thoughts first. I’ve never been good with this whole talking about feelings or personal things stuff, so it’s not like I can just flick on a switch and do that now.”

“Of course you can’t,” Castiel mutters. He sighs again, and forces his stormy mind to settle for now. “Okay. I just want you to know that whatever it is you’re going through… Even if I can’t help, I can hear you out.”

“I appreciate that, Cas. Thank you.”

They go in through the back entrance of the restaurant, and Castiel takes his sweet time washing his hands thoroughly. Dean takes a seat on one of the tables.

“So, what are we making?”

“There’s a party coming up tomorrow, and I need to prepare a casserole that I can just throw in the oven in the morning. I think I can make the pies today, too.”

“Pies? Damn it,” Dean mutters. “What I wouldn’t give for a pie.”

Castiel frowns while placing a net over his hair. He’s waiting for a witty remark from Dean, but instead, he gets a look that’s almost admiring. He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he looks away.

“I guess I can have you taste some,” he says. “It’s not like I never make extra.”

“I-”

Castiel looks back at Dean, and the sadness in his features is back. It makes him seem burdened and worn, and Castiel almost reaches out and touches his hand. Instead, he curls his hands into fists at his sides and can’t tear his gaze away from Dean’s profile.

“I can’t.”

Castiel opens his mouth to ask, but it’s not like he’s going to get any answers any time soon, so he snaps it shut again.

“What do you reckon will happen with Rowena’s plans to talk to ASCAP?” he says instead and starts digging for groceries for the casserole.

“Well, ASCAP’s not going to give her shit. Their licenses are for  _ non-dramatic _ music playing only. Frankly, I’m surprised Rowena doesn’t know this already.”

“Don’t be daft. I didn’t know it either.”

“Well, you’ve always been a performer more than a producer.”

“And you haven’t?”

“You don’t know a lot about me, Cas.”

“Because you never tell me.”

He sets to cutting red onions and waits for Dean to deflect his not-question.

“I was interested in becoming a director once,” he sighs, and Castiel needs to keep his fingers at work by force — all he wants to do is turn around and urge Dean to continue, to please talk more about himself, to please let him in.

“Oh?” he asks, feigning nonchalance. “What happened?”

“Huh, I don’t know. Life got in the way, I guess. I was interested in directing theater plays and dances, and I did some research on what the law is with copyrighted material. Generally, you could get permissions to play music while people wait. But if you want to use it for dramatic purposes, you need to contact the copyright owners. That can take time.”

“What kind of plays would you have liked to direct?” Castiel asks while dropping the chopped onion into a container. He closes the lid and places the box into the refrigerator, taking some tomatoes for his next item. He realizes he should’ve asked more about the copyright issues, instead — now, Dean has a chance to deflect again and generally, sounding more interested in Dean’s personal life than the technicalities of his theatrical project sounds alarming, no matter how true it is.

“Adventures, mostly. I like the idea of a modern pirate, but I would also enjoy bringing some fantasy novel to life.”

“Sounds interesting. It’s been a while since I last saw a modern pirate dance theater play.”

Dean huffs. “Yeah, it sounds lame.”

“No, it doesn’t. I think you should pursue it.”

“I can’t,” Dean says quietly. Castiel pretends to cut the tomatoes, but he keeps on looking at Dean from under his lashes. Dean, on the other hand, is currently looking at the ceiling, biting his lower lip. 

“In that case I’m sorry,” Castiel decides to say, since he knows asking for reasons would be enough to break this delicate situation they’ve built here and shut Dean up for good. “One should always be able to pursue their dreams.”

“I wish I could. But things are as they are now, and I’ve got to let my dreams go.”

Dean sounds like he’s done talking, so Castiel starts instead. He’ll be damned if he lets the conversation die now.

“I never really had dreams besides ballet. All my dreams were always somewhat intertwined with it. But now, for some reason, I feel this kind of solidarity towards Rowena. I want to make her dream succeed and if it means giving my time and talent for her with no compensation, that’s how it’s going to be. I am growing tired of the same rare faces in the industry and would love to make some independent creator succeed.”

“Funny of you to choose Rowena, then,” Dean muses, but there’s no malice to his voice, “considering she was once the brightest star on the stage.”

“Charlie isn’t completely unknown either.”

“Let alone you, prince Novak.”

Castiel huffs and looks up at Dean. He’s looking back at him from under his lashes, waiting to see how Castiel takes his teasing. Castiel’s stomach does an unfamiliar flip at that.

“I agree,” he decides to say. “I think I just love the idea of an independent theater, no matter who it belongs to and who performs in it. The names alone aren’t enough to bring in millions of dollars.”

“But millions is what you’re aiming for? That’s a fetch.”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s best to dream big.”

 

They chat about Boston, about theater life and about the modern ballet scene while Castiel finishes preparing the casserole. Somehow it’s already midnight when he’s done, so he decides to wake up early and do the pies in the morning. Anna would not approve of that, but it’s not the first time they disagree on deadlines and pull out a good result nonetheless.

Dean doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave Castiel this time. The time in Dorchester, when he disappeared seemingly in thin air, still looms in Castiel’s mind, but he also wants to think they’ve established a more stable acquaintanceship since then. Dean seems to genuinely like Castiel’s company just as much as Castiel likes Dean’s — and it’s both thrilling and scary to notice. Castiel’s no fool; he knows some of the gestures and words Dean chooses are flirtatious. It’s not completely unwelcome, but more often than not, it has resulted in people wanting more of him than he can provide. It’s always hard to know when to tell people they shouldn’t expect anything from him.

Still, something feels different about Dean. It’s as though he’s not likely to cause the same kind of possible issues as other people. He’s fully present, but simultaneously way too distant for anything to spiral out of his actions. It makes it possible for Castiel to relax and enjoy someone’s company for the first time in ages — which is unfair towards Charlie, for example. 

He gives up trying to decipher the difference between Charlie and Dean in his mind and focuses on the night instead. They’ve started walking from the restaurant in silence that, for the first time, is not pressuring but comfortable. It’s early summer, the first trees of the season are blossoming — he inhales the sweet scent of cherry and apple blossoms carried to him on the wind.

“Should we go to the park?” he asks Dean, who looks at him with a hint of a smile on his face. Idly, Castiel realizes he’s not the only one who doesn’t want the night to end.

“I was thinking the shore,” Dean replies, “I would love to go see the ferries.”

Castiel nods. “I just want to see the trees. Bet they’ve got some at the shore.”

“You’d be amazed.”

“Is it-” Castiel bites his tongue, briefly wondering whether it’s too intrusive to ask, “is it close enough to you?”

“What?”

“I just wondered, since you were uncertain about Dorchester.”

Dean frowns and shrugs. “Yeah, turns out that wasn’t a nice place for me. But I’ve been to the shore many times. It’s calming.”

They move from Beacon Hill towards the Financial District, and soon enough, Castiel sees a cherry tree in full bloom. He comes to a halt under it, closing his eyes and breathing deep. It’s the scent of summer.

“What do you do to calm down?” Dean asks. “Besides acting weird around trees, that is.”

“Come here,” Castiel mutters instinctively, and briefly opens his eyes to see Dean obey. They stand in silence, their faces upward, eyes closed. Castiel feels warm and he thinks, for the first time in his life, that he would like to be kissed right now. 

Of course, the moment passes in a second or two. A chilly gust of wind passes them, and Castiel shivers. For a moment, he needs to reminisce what they were talking about before he got carried away by flowers.

“I climb,” he says then, “when I’m not dancing, or working at the restaurant. I climb rocks and cliffs with simple equipment. I’m by no means a mountaineer, but I enjoy the flex it gives my body.”

“Oh. Is there places for that around here?”

“Many, but my favorite is Lynn Woods. I go there mostly early enough for it to not be crowded yet.”

They’ve started walking again, it’s only a couple more blocks before they reach the ferries. Dean instantly makes a beeline to the docks and inhales the scent of the ocean. Castiel laughs, mostly to himself.

“So, what do you do to calm down? Besides act weird around ferries,” he asks, coming to stand next to him and breathing in as well. Dean looks at him with a glint of familiar sadness.

“I used to ride them, too. I used to visit Weymouth and Quincy by ferry on my days off, and just wander around town and read a lot. Like I said, I used to love to take public transport and travel around. Now, on the other hand… Now I can’t even smell the sea anymore.”

Castiel takes another whiff of the air, wondering whether it’s milder than it used to be. He feels bad for Dean, but doesn’t want to show his concern. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it seems like Dean’s going through a lot — it might even be that he’s at a depressive phase in his life. That would explain why he feels he can’t talk to people and why he feels he’s given up so much.

“Sounds like a nice way to spend time,” Castiel says. “But we don’t need to talk about your past if it makes you sad.”

“I don’t know. Before I started talking to you, I was alright with it all. I was alright with being alone, and fading away. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Dean walks until he reaches a dock that reaches out into the water. Castiel idly notices his feet make no sound as he walks on the wood.


	4. Chapter 4

Because Castiel told Dean about his rock climbing hobby, they visit Lynn Woods on his next day off. Dean isn’t interested in the whole technicality of the sport, so Castiel chooses for them a smaller rock formation to use for bouldering. He’s found solace in his equipment for so long it’s hard for him to do it without; still, they fall into a comfortable pace soon enough. 

Ever since Dean started talking about himself, he never really stopped. He rambles on about his past as an advertising intern who gave up a possibility for a stable job to dance. He talks about his brother, who means the world to him — although he has to sometimes correct his wording from past to present tense, which leads Castiel to believe something has happened between them. In return, Castiel shares stories about his family, about his first successful dancing performances and how it never, not even when he was celebrated as a Dance champion, felt like things came too easy for him. Sure, at times he became self-centered, but he was easily brought back to reality either by hardship or his friends or tutors. Dean says he’s not going to change his mind about Castiel, no matter how many times he tries to tell him he’s not a pretentious asshat.

They reach the top when the sun is at its highest. Castiel digs into his backpack for sunscreen and lathers it on his face and forearms. He offers it to Dean as well, but he shakes his head. 

The view at the top is stunning, despite their humble amount of climbing. Here, like everywhere in the city, the apple and cherry trees are in bloom, and Castiel can also smell the unique scent of lilacs growing closeby. Somewhere below them, children are running and squealing. A barking dog follows them. 

“So, what’s next for you?” Castiel asks, leaning back and facing the sun. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, and for reasons unfamiliar to him, he makes a scene of stretching his neck. “I mean, for now, I’ve gathered you’re at a standstill.”

“You’ve gathered right, but I don’t have an answer for you. I guess I just wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“The end,” Dean says with a low laugh. “Wow, that sounds dramatic.”

Castiel doesn’t feel like laughing. He turns to look at Dean, who shrugs and shakes his head.

“What do you mean, the end? As in death, the end?”

“I wish,” he mutters, but shakes his head again. “No, I don’t mean it like that. Sometimes I just wish some things could die and make way for new things.”

“We all do at times,” Castiel admits. “I’d felt particularly stuck until this opportunity presented itself.”

“Then you’re glad the guy before you got in that accident,” Dean says and leans his chin against his knee in sudden consideration. “Maybe that’s what I meant. Death brings life.”

“Didn’t know you had a poetic side to you,” Castiel hums.

“I don’t,” Dean chuckles and rolls his shoulders to relieve whatever he had on them just now.

“Speaking of the accident,” Castiel starts then, hesitantly, “you don’t happen to know anything about the guy whose place I stole? The group, understandably, refuses to talk about him.” 

A breeze passes through the park and suddenly, Castiel feels cold. He wraps his arms around himself and lets a visible shiver run through him. Dean seems to be unaffected, contemplating what to say.

“Not much to know. He was there, now he ain’t. Not much more to it.”

It’s deflecting if Castiel’s ever seen any, and instead of letting it slide like he tends to with Dean, he decides to insist.

“Please. I can’t ask anyone else.”

Dean grunts and stands up. He starts to pace around the clearing, crosses his fingers against the back of his head, and sighs.

“Right. Well, he didn’t die at the theater, if that’s what you’re worried about. He was hit by a truck.”

“Oh. I’m… Did you know him personally? My condolences.”

Dean laughs joylessly. “Nah. I don’t know. It’s really hard to explain. But thanks, I guess.”

“It seems like he was really liked at the group,” Castiel ventures. “I fill his shoes poorly.”

Dean taps the ground with his toes and turns to face Castiel. “I think the best you can do is be you. Those people will forgive you, since you haven’t done anything wrong. Just… I guess don’t pretend to be him. It wouldn’t be right to your new friends… Or him, for the matter.”

“Of course not.”

There’s something in Dean’s behavior that’s closer to the truth than Castiel has even witnessed before. Dean knew Castiel’s predecessor, that much is certain, but to what extent? Were they friends? 

Is Dean feeling guilty? Is that why he’s feeling so low?

“You… Know it’s not your fault this person passed away, right?”

Dean scoffs. “What the hell, man? How could you possibly know anything about that?”

“I-”

“You’ve got no right to give me platitudes about this. You don’t know shit about what’s going on.”

“That’s right, I don’t. You refuse to tell me.”

Dean groans aloud and turns around again. He’s venturing closer to the edge and looks down. Castiel notices it’s been silent in the park for a while now.

“You need to bring that up all the time, don’t you? I don’t exploit your weaknesses, and god knows you’ve got plenty.”

“Why are you so against me?”

Dean turns around and throws Castiel the ugliest glance he has ever received, and that is counting the times people have lost to him in dance competitions. Simultaneously, Dean takes a step back, and being so close to the edge already he’s seconds away from losing his balance and falling. Castiel leaps on his feet and runs after him, reaches out his hand to catch Dean before he slips — but somehow Castiel must have estimated wrong because Dean takes an extended step sideways and is on safe ground again. He inhales rapidly, obviously appalled by Castiel’s attempt to help, and as Castiel stops by the edge, he shakes his head vigorously.

“What the hell? When did I say it’s okay for you to start manhandling me?”

“Dean, I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t care,” he says, and raises his hands in defeat, “I don’t fucking care. Don’t ever. Don’t ever touch me.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were-”

“Like I said, I don’t care,” he says, once more, “Cas, I’m gonna go now.”

#

Needless to say, Castiel is distracted at their next practice, and that ripples through everyone’s performance. They’re going through the opening scene of the second act for the first time, and he wants to get his solo down as well as possible, but he keeps on thinking about Dean and how something he’d done was appalling enough for Dean to never want to see him again.

That might be exaggerating it, since it’s only been two days. Castiel used the previous day practicing at the theater in hopes of running into Dean, but it was no use — it seemed likely that this would turn out to be another case in which Dean would stay away for a couple of days. Castiel refuses to admit he misses him already, but it’s not like he’s got other friends.

Again, unfair to Charlie. Maybe that’s why, during their break, he walks up to her.

“Hi,” he says carefully, “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to freak you out with talking by myself.”

Charlie laughs. “That’s alright. It’s not like I never do it.”

“What are you going to do today? Do you want to grab a coffee or dinner or something?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she says, curling her lower lip, “I need to go talk to a friend about the music.”

“What, is there something going on?”

“Yes, it seems like we can’t get licenses for dramatic use unless we take a route that’s pointlessly long and nobody has time for that. Rowena’s really pissed about it, but was ready to listen to my suggestion about bringing in a friend. I know someone who can play, and get friends in if necessary. If we get them started on an original score for us, it might still all turn out okay.”

“Ah, okay,” Castiel says. Not surprisingly, Dean had been right. “Some other time, then.”

“I could take you up on that,” Balthazar says from behind them, and slowly walks next to Castiel. “I’ve been meaning to ask you out.”

“I’ll leave you,” Charlie says quickly, and there’s a smirk in her tone. Castiel tries to gesture for her to stay, but she’s too long gone.

“Hi, Balthazar,” he says slowly and tries to smile. “Great dancing so far. I can’t wait to see you danced off into the river.”

Balthazar laughs, slapping his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel looks at it menacingly, so he drops it. 

“That’s the spirit. So, how about it? Would you like to grab something to eat after? We can make it a whole evening, as well, if that’s what you like.”

“He’s not interested,” a voice — Dean’s, no doubt — comes through the stage. Castiel squints and sees him sitting on the first row of benches, waving at them.

“Uh,” Castiel says, because frankly, there’s not much else coming out right now. He should answer Balthazar that yes, Dean is, in fact, right, but he feels contradicted by the whole scenario — this is the first time Dean has talked to anyone but him around the theater. Shouldn’t he keep on hiding? He made it very well known he wasn’t ready to meet any of these people. Yet, here he is, answering Balthazar’s questions for him. It’s annoying, but also somewhat relieving; at least he’s not gone forever.

Balthazar, on the other hand, chooses to ignore Dean altogether and Castiel doesn’t know if it’s better or worse.

“So, what do you say?”

“I’m going to have to decline,” he says firmly. “I mean, I would like to go out with you as a friend, but I’m sure that’s not what you had in mind.”

“No, I was thinking of boning you, to be honest,” Balthazar says with a shrug, “but it’s not like I’m secretly in love with you or anything, so if you wanna bond through being friends, that’s fine by me.”

Castiel hums. “If you refrain from speaking about boning, it’s fine by me too.”

Balthazar taps Castiel playfully on the shoulder again, and this time it isn’t unpleasant. “That’s more like it, we’ve got a deal. Now, let’s get back to practice.”

 

Besides that single snide comment yelled from the audience, Dean keeps quiet. At some point, he comes closer to the stage, watching Albrecht’s dance scene on the graveyard. Rowena calms down after everything starts going according to plan, and Castiel is almost ashamed to admit Dean’s presence has a calming effect on him. It doesn’t change even when he knows their friendship, at the moment, is in a stormy place. 

Jess plays the Queen of the Wilis, Myrtha. She’s a contemporary dancer to boot, and has mixed some Mediterranean rhythms into her steps as well. Charlie tells Castiel it’s because Jess has spent two years abroad, studying dance in Greece and Italy with her boyfriend, the lawyer. Castiel feels another wave of gratefulness pass through him at that — he’s truly among great people here. 

They go through the intense dance scene between Myrtha, Albrecht, Hilarion and Giselle. It’s mostly just talking about what they could do and reminiscing about the original dances for now, but they have a good, productive time nonetheless — until the lights go out.

In the dark, Castiel can hear Charlie groan. “Rowena, did you forget to pay the bill?”

“Nonsense! I never forget.”

“Is the fuse out?” Jess asks. Before anyone can answer, the lights go back on, and then out again.

“Power outage,” Balthazar mutters, “I wonder if the whole city is experiencing the same.”

“Hm,” Rowena says, “I don’t think it’s that. Look at the audience lights.”

Two lights gently sway on and off on the right-hand wall, as if they’re controlled by dimmers and not switches. Then, the first row of ceiling lights come on, then the second and third, as if they’re making a wave.

“What the hell,” Dorothy whimpers.

“It’s alright,” Charlie says bravely, but her voice gives away the anxiety she’s feeling now too, “I think it’s just a malfunction.”

“Is someone up at the booth?” Castiel asks.

“They don’t work like that even if someone was,” Rowena says, starting to head towards the light and audio booth on top of the audience anyway, “It’s possible to cut the lights from the audience to half, but not individually in rows like that.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Kevin asks. 

“She’s already gone,” Balthazar says, stretching himself in the dim light. “So, what do you reckon is going on? Ghosts?”

“Don’t!” Dorothy snaps. “You know I hate ghosts.”

“It’s the ghost of-” Balthazar starts, but is quickly hushed by both Charlie and Jess. 

“Don’t speak his name in this theater,” Charlie says. “You’re smart, so stop acting so goddamn stiff.”

“I think we should be able to speak of him, though,” Kevin says slowly, “it’s not respecting the dead if we never mention him.”

“We can respect him in our thoughts,” Jess says. Charlie nods.

“Mentioning him will only summon him,” Dorothy says with a shudder. “And I, for one, don’t want to find out how death suits him.”

“He sounds scary,” Castiel admits. Before anyone can either confirm or deny his notion, all of the lights both in the audience and on stage start blinking — first slowly, then more and more rapidly. Dorothy screams, but it’s Balthazar who’s first on his feet. As they all try to subtly run away from whatever unknown threat they’re unwilling to face, Rowena joins them.

“Nobody in the booth,” she says quietly, “who the fuck summoned him?”

“I  _ said _ mentioning him would summon him!” Dorothy says triumphantly. 

“Nobody mentioned him, though,” Jess says. They escape through the doors into the sunlight, and instantly, the eerie atmosphere evaporates.

“Class dismissed for today,” Rowena says anyway, “I don’t care what you were planning for Saturday, we’ll finish up then.”

#

Mostly to escape Balthazar’s coffee invitation, Castiel joins Gabriel for the rest of the day. They do the delivery round together, talking about nothing in particular. Gabriel isn’t as enthusiastic about details as Anna, so he’s happy with a vague description of Castiel’s dancing adventures. He’s more interested to know whether he’s made any new friends, and if there’s anyone in the group that would be suitable to date him. Castiel, as always before, refuses to play the matchmaker and doesn’t share details. He’d made that mistake once and had to endure Gabriel dating one of his best friends in high school. That was enough.

Castiel doesn’t want to tell Gabriel about what happened at the theater. 

Like last time, they finish their round at the old couple’s house. Castiel gets to see a completely different side of Gabriel here — he’s polite, considerate towards the elderly, and takes the old lady into account fabulously. They play a round of chess together while Castiel busies himself with the dishes, and even wait around for a load of laundry. When they’re about to leave, though, the lady grabs Castiel by the sleeve. 

“Could you stay a while, dear?”

“Excuse me?”

“I need to talk to you about something. Could you stay for a little bit longer?”

Gabriel comes up to them, frowning. “Can I help you with something more, ma’am?”

“No, thank you. It’s this young man I want to talk to. If you could be a dear and take my laundry out to the clothesline.”

Castiel exchanges glances with Gabriel, and they both nod. “Sure, if that is what you wish, ma’am. I will be on my way. Castiel, I’ll see you at work.”

“Of course. I’ve got a shift on Sunday?”

“Me too,” Gabriel says, making finger guns. Then, he takes he laundry basket and sees himself out.

“Come here, boy,” the lady says, gesturing to the living room. “Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you, I’m fine,” Castiel answers idly, looking around as if he’s never seen the apartment before. What could she possibly have to say to him?

The lady takes a seat next to her husband, and for a moment, they both look at him with matching smiles on their faces. Then, the husband gets up and starts pacing across the room.

“I know this sounds rather odd, but I’ve never met anyone like you, so I must have a word with you. I hope your friend doesn’t mind we drove him out like that.”

“I don’t think he’s physically or mentally able to get insulted,” Castiel says with a smile, “but go on.”

She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, looking at the ceiling, looking somewhere behind her, and then looking back at Castiel.

“You can see him too, right?”

The question catches Castiel off guard. For some reason, the words coming from the lady’s mouth make him think of Dean, but he shakes his head rapidly. It’s obviously not what she’s talking about — and what would that even mean?

“Excuse me, you’re… I’m not following you.”

“My husband. You can see him?”

Castiel glances at the window, where the man is standing with his hands behind his back, humming quietly. Is the poor woman delusional? Castiel briefly thinks about what he knows about her; but she has no history of dementia or the like.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, let me tell you something.”

The lady reaches out to the coffee table and touches a photo album with her hands. “Please, take a look at this. It’s a photo album of our life.”

Mostly just to please the woman, Castiel obeys. He takes the white album in his hands, turning it around a bit, and opens to the first page.

“You don’t have to take interest in the first photos. They’re of our firstborn child, and our trips to Europe. But as you can see, he’s been by my side, always.”

Castiel turns the pages slowly. A very young lady holding a baby, posing in front of the Eiffel Tower, the man holding the Pisa tower as if he’s pushing it upright — a life of pictures of two people in love. It’s bittersweet to look at, but there’s still the same glint of joy present in the woman’s eyes as Castiel returns his eyes to her.

“What I want you to see are the latest ones. We’re old, getting wrinkly, seeing our grandchildren. Getting retired, and having more time to travel after that.”

“This is all really lovely, ma’am,” Castiel says, trying to keep up with her stories in the pictures. “I still don’t understand-”

“Look a little further, then.”

The photos take a grim turn. The man in the hospital, in all sorts of tubes, and the wife trying to make him feel better by filling the hospital room with souvenirs and mementos from their travels. Them together in a park, the wife pushing the man in a wheelchair. 

The whole family singing around the man, the smallest kids barely two years old.

And on the last page, there’s two things; a picture of the casket, in his funeral, and a death notice in the newspaper telling a Thomas Edward Willis had died a couple of years ago.

Castiel swallows around a lump in his throat. His head is spinning.

“What?”

“Don’t be frightened, my dear,” the lady says, “I, unfortunately, cannot see him myself, but I have met someone before who can. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just a talent some people possess, is all.”

Castiel slides his gaze over to the man, who now turns back to them with a smile that reaches his eyes.

“He looks peaceful,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “He’s smiling.”

The lady beams. “I have no doubt. He wouldn’t have stayed if he wasn’t happy with me.”

“I think he’s…”

The man leans closer to his wife, looking at her longingly. 

“He misses you, and I get this feeling he…” Castiel shakes his head. “Oh, my head hurts. This is, hands down, the strangest situation I’ve been at.”

He rises to his feet and walks around the house for a moment. What on Earth is going on? The woman is telling him he can see spirits of the passed, and Castiel was just about to make a freaking psychoanalysis of the guy. 

He shakes his hands to regain a sense of reality on them, and just breathes for a moment. From the window, he can see the sun and the cars and the world as it’s spinning around just as it was a few seconds ago — as if everything hadn’t just turned upside down.

_ Ghosts _ ?

“Are you feeling alright in there?” The lady’s voice emanates from the living room. Castiel sighs and returns to them.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t… It’s not exactly easy to take this in.”

“Oh dear, of course it isn’t. The previous person I’ve talked to who had this talent… She told me that it’s nothing to be afraid of. She told me it’s similar to having a good eye for color.”

“You don’t happen to know where this person is right now? I mean, no offense, but I might be in need of peer support right now.”

“Her name is Pamela… Oh dear, what was it…”

“Barnes,” the man says. His voice is normal — it’s not hollow, or echoing. Just a regular man voice that reminds Castiel of his grandfather. 

“Pamela Barnes,” Castiel says, “alright. I might have to look her up.”

The lady blinks, and smiles. “He was always better at remembering names than me. But, my dear, you didn’t finish a sentence you were about to say earlier.”

“I…” Castiel reels back and remembers. “Yes. I’ve got the feeling he wants to stay with you until it’s time for you to join him.”

“That’s right,” the man says. 

“Oh, I know that, you silly goose,” the lady giggles. “Thank you, though, Castiel. I’m really happy to meet another person who can see spirits.”

“I don’t know what to think of this,” Castiel admits. “But I’m grateful to have learned what I did today.”


	5. Chapter 5

Pamela Barnes is a woman who leaves nothing to chance. She wants to meet Castiel in his home, and she’s punctual to boot. Without saying anything, she comes in after looking around on the street. Castiel makes her tea because it feels inconsiderate of him to just start probing her with questions.

Although that’s what she’d possibly be expecting. After all, Castiel found her online after a single Google search — and she keeps a ghost blog. She has three different numbers listed on her website and after calling them all, she returned to Castiel in minutes.

“So, you seem to have problems with ghosts,” she starts as soon as she has a cup of coffee in her hands. She looks around the apartment, runs her fingers on the exposed brick wall and whistles lowly. “No wonder. There’s at least three people died in this apartment.”

“I don’t have a ghost problem,” Castiel says. “I wanted to talk to you, since you seemed to know a man named Thomas Willis, and his wife. I… I visit them regularly and only now found out Thomas is not, in fact, alive.”

Pamela laughs. “Atta boy! Not the sharpest tool in the shed, obviously.”

“Hey. I didn’t invite you here to mock me.”

She grins and takes a widespread seat on his couch. He sits at the table and sips some tea.

“And? What is it you want of me?”

“I wanted to… I don’t know. I found out I can see ghosts yesterday. That’s not an experience everyone gets. I wasn’t prepared for this. I haven’t slept all night, and I have no idea what to do next.”

While Pamela drinks her tea in one long sip, Castiel wonders about what happened at the theater. Since, apparently, ghosts are now real and all, it’s entirely possible that one was possessing the lights.

Does it even work like that? Do ghost possess lights — or other people, for the matter?

“Alright. So you want consolation. I don’t know how much of that I got, boy, but I can try. Maybe it’s easier for you to realize how this happened to you, no?”

“I don’t know what you mean. You’ve got to… tone it down for me. I don’t speak supernatural.”

“Okay. So, I don’t know if this talent can be something you’re born with, but with all the people I’ve met, it’s never been the case. What it usually takes is either thousands of hours of meditation with this goal in mind — or a near death experience. Do you happen to have one in your past, Castiel?”

He’s about to say no, but then snaps his mouth shut. There’s a memory in the back of his mind that’s almost out of reach, and the more he thinks of it, the more it feels to be slipping away.

“I… Don’t know.”

“Long story short. If you’ve passed the border of life and death at some point, you can see the ones still on this side that should be on the other. Simple as that.”

“But how can… How can this be real? Does this mean everything they tell in stories and fairytales is real?”

“What? No, of course not. Honey, that’s a leap. All I can account for is ghosts. Of the flying spaghetti monster, or god, for the matter, I can not account for.”

“Okay. Okay. So, ghosts.”

“First, if I were you, I would stop freaking out and get some sleep. You’d be surprised how little it really changes your life. I’m now gonna talk about how it works for me and for most people, but don’t think these are universal truths, okay?”

Castiel nods. His brain is still short-circuiting on the  _ ghosts _ part, but he tries to listen to Pamela.

“So, ghosts need to actively want for you to see them or you can’t. It’s not like you’re suddenly the whisperer to all that’s dead. That’s great, because you couldn’t see alive people in between the dead if that weren’t the case. You can talk to ghosts, and talk with them, hear them out, and stuff, but you can’t touch them, smell them or… Taste them, if that were possible without touching.”

“Have you tried?”

“Why would you even ask that?”

Castiel shrugs. He’s verging on hysterical. 

“As for how to spot a ghost… I don’t know. They look really similar to people. You can only really be sure when they tell you.”

“Like the Willis man,” Castiel huffs, “he didn’t look anything like a ghost.”

“I don’t know what you were expecting. Shackles and a sheet?” Pamela laughs. She helps herself to another cup of tea, and Castiel’s too stunned to even care. If Gabriel tried to mess with his teas, he would throw his brother out without even feeling sorry about it.

“That’s exactly it, Pamela. I wasn’t expecting ghosts.”

“Well, if the Willis chap is the only ghost you’ve got to know, you’re lucky. You can visit him whenever you like, and he’s not pushing himself onto you. He’s attached to his wife.”

“Do ghosts attach to something, then?”

“From what I’ve seen, kind of — but it changes depending on the ghost. They might be fond of places, or things, or people. It’s particularly nasty when they attach to a public place, such as a school or a library. They might ghost around the premises, do shenanigans when they’re bored or pissed. And boy, do ghosts get bored and pissed, because they can’t get far from the thing they’re attached to.”

There’s something else in the back of Castiel’s mind besides the memory he was trying to recall, and when he tries to grab it, he suddenly remembers his near-death experience.

“Drowning,” he says as an epiphany comes over him. “I fucking drowned.”

“Hmm?”

“For my near death experience. I remember… Our summer cottage, and I was on the dock, and I had my boots on. I was catching worms for fishing. I fell in the water, and my boots filled up. I could come up just for air, but I couldn’t hold my head up long enough to yell help.”

Castiel brings both of his hands to his throat. The memory is intense.

“What saved you?”

“I- My sister’s boyfriend was there,” he says, “a total shithead, but he did save my life.”

“Consider yourself lucky, then. Not only did you survive that, you’ve now got a gift. Oh, the water ghosts must love you.”

“The what?”

“Some ghosts have drowned, obviously, or died at sea, or loved the sea. If you tell them that story, you’ll have a friend for life.”

“Why would I tell them that?”

Pamela shrugs. “I don’t know. Anyway, I must be on my way. If Willis is your only problem, I don’t see how you could possibly be in trouble. Although…”

She leans in and considers Castiel for a moment. 

“You don’t happen to have another ghost friend?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You sure? Nobody who’s really attached to a single item, nobody who freaks out when you’re close enough to touch?”

Before Castiel’s brain makes the obvious connection, he remembers the dream he had about Dean telling him he’s always been dying.

Castiel feels he can’t breathe. 

“There…. There might be,” he says quietly.

#

During the night, Castiel tries to shake the thought of Dean off a thousand times but he still stays in. 

First, he thinks it’s nonsense. He thinks the old couple is messing with him and that Pamela is their daughter that is in on the joke. He searches the internet until he finds Thomas’ death notice in digital form, but it does little to convince him. He thinks about his meetings with Dean again and again, about Charlie saying he’s talking to himself even though he was talking to Dean, and how Dean had disappeared from him in Dorchester.

He thinks about the fatality in Dean’s speech, and about how angry he got when Castiel tried to keep him from falling.

He would shrug all of the ghost stuff away if it didn’t make  _ so much sense. _

 

As soon as he closes his eyes, he’s dreaming again. He dreams of the lake he almost drowned in, and Dean’s walking on top of the water. Despite the impossibility of the scene, his smile is warm, and he reaches out his hand. Castiel takes it, and they walk away together.

He wakes up with a gasp as if he’s still drowning. He looks around, but he’s just as alone as before. His digital clock insists he slept for almost two hours, and although it felt like minutes, Castiel gets up. The moon is shining behind the blinds, and after putting the kettle on, Castiel opens the curtains, wraps his arms around himself and stares out mindlessly.

He’s feeling empty. He feels an existential dread, and he’s lonely unlike many times before. There’s also a selfish part in his mind that’s mad at Dean for being dead, because for the first time ever, he’s felt -

He shakes his head. No point in thinking about that now. 

More than anything, he feels empathy. Dean must be so lonely, having to keep this secret to himself out of fear of being ridiculed. Castiel wants to meet him, to talk with all of the pretenses stripped away — he wants to discuss Dean’s situation, help him out in any way he can, and be there for him. He gets a strange feeling of protectiveness that only strengthens the more he thinks about Dean alone, and eventually, he decides to leave the apartment without drinking his tea.

 

The streets are mostly empty, and it has always seemed funny to Castiel that even a city as big as Boston quiets down for the night. Now, though, he wonders if Dean ever sleeps. Do ghosts need to sleep? He should’ve asked Pamela. He should’ve asked a whole lot about ghost logistics, considering that he’s going to be hanging out with one. Pamela assured him that everything would turn out fine, and that she was a phone call away — but there was a vibe in her that suggested that he’d better not actually use the opportunity.

Besides, as it seems, Castiel now has an expert to consult on these matters.

He finds Dean at the theater. He’s sliding across the stage like a vision — silent in his movement, light on his feet, ethereal. Castiel needs to place a hesitant hand on his chest to keep his heart from physically breaking; it all makes so much sense now. Here, with Dean, all his fears about the whole ghost realm and afterlife thing seems secondary.

He takes a seat on the front row and lets himself be carried away by Dean’s storytelling. Castiel loves the way Dean dances; he’s collected the best from both jazz ballet and contemporary fields and thrown them out the window to make way for something more personal. He’s probably not technically perfect, and wouldn’t be admired by those in favor of purity in dance; but for Castiel, it was a way to Dean’s soul and he was in awe of what he saw in there.

He absently wondered if Dean was only the soul now that his physical presence was gone.

The dance comes to a close in time with the music, and Dean turns his back to Castiel.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says anyway. His voice seems to break a kind of silence that should remain unbroken — it’s as if Dean’s already aware of the shift in their dynamic caused by Castiel finally finding out the truth.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you have anything better to do at night? Sleeping, for instance?”

“Don’t you?”

Dean shrugs. “Touche, I guess. So, another night walk across town?”

“Yes, please.”

Dean rolls his shoulders and hops off the stage. “I might be able to spare you a minute.”

 

Castiel tries to look at Dean differently, knowing what he does now. He tries to look for some fading around the edges, or flickering — he’s pretty sure he saw that on his peripheral vision once or twice — but no, Dean looks perfectly normal. It’s deceiving. 

They walk through the narrow botanical hallways of the Public Garden, and Castiel already knows night walks and flowers are something he will always associate with Dean. 

“I take it you wanted to talk,” Dean says then, almost awkwardly. “Or did you just lure me in here to smell the flowers?”

“Can you smell them, Dean?”

Dean frowns. There’s doubt in his eyes — it must be hard to calculate all his answers like that to not give his secret away.

“Of course. What do you even-”

“Dean,” Castiel says, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle. “Please be honest with me, here. During the last twenty-four hours or so, everything in my life has changed. I’ve talked to people I didn’t know I was able… To talk to.”

Dean stops and looks at Castiel almost angrily. Castiel can hear his elevated breathing, and he wonders if it’s a facade Dean has learned to keep up to pass as a living person.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Hey, calm down. I am… Not trying to make you uncomfortable, here. But I think this conversation is a bit overdue already.”

Dean sighs, throwing his hands in the air, but finally sitting down under a giant oak tree. He gestures for Castiel to take a seat next to him.

“Okay. Dean, I am going to ask you a single question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“If you’re going to ask whether I’m a supernatural entity, like a sparkling vampire, I swear to god-”

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly, “are you still alive?”

Dean opens his mouth to deflect the question, but then their eyes meet and his lungs deflate like a balloon.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. Please.”

“I don’t think I am,” he says almost silently, and his shoulders slump. Castiel’s never seen him this broken — but also, for the first time, Castiel knows what causes it. It makes him confident enough to reach out as an act of comfort, which, of course, is the shittiest idea of a lifetime. Dean just looks at his hand and huffs out a joyless laugh.

“I believe you,” Castiel says then. “Please, tell me what happened.”

“Well, I already told you how it happened,” he mutters. It takes Castiel a painful while to realize what he’s been missing. 

“Wait- Wait. You’re my predecessor?”

“Big shoes to fill and all that, right?” Dean says. The mirth in his voice never falters, but it seems he’s already shaken some of the pressure off. 

“I’m so sorry for what happened. I talked to an expert about all of this, but I still know very little about your personal situation.”

“What is there to know? I died, I’m still here.”

“Why? Is there something keeping you here?”

“Other than trying to make sure my dance group still gets their act together? I don’t think so, no. I don’t believe in any of that grudge or retribution nonsense. What interests me, though, is why you’re the only one that can see me.”

“Some people do,” Castiel sighs, “I was told it has to do with near death experiences.”

Dean considers him for a while, but says nothing. 

“I… I don’t know what I can do for you,” Castiel ventures, “but I can see you, and I am here for you.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Dean says and waves his hand dismissively before getting up from the bench. “I should probably go now.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Uhh…” Dean gets on his toes for a second and Castiel wonders if he’s ever seen Dean’s en pointe, “I don’t know. I bet I got some shackles to ruffle or bedsheets to wave.”

“Or lights to flicker,” Castiel says. A faint blush seems to creep up Dean’s neck, reaching his cheeks, but he just shrugs.

“I needed to break off the tension.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But if you’d like to, I live just a couple of blocks away. I could… Make conceptual tea or something.”

“You should get some sleep. It’s already… Shoot, three am.”

“I’m not going to sleep, Dean,” Castiel assures, “my whole life has turned upside down. I don’t know how one’s supposed to sleep after that kind of stuff.”

Dean nods. “Okay. In that case, show me where you live.”

#

If Castiel didn’t know Dean was a ghost… Well, he wouldn’t know.

The thought is pointless, Castiel thinks to himself as he watches Dean run his fingers on the rough tile wall. 

Do ghosts feel anything? Dean answers him without being prompted.

“It’s not that I can feel anything. I just… Remember how textures used to feel like and attach that to what I’m seeing right now.”

“Can you touch things?”

“It takes a lot of focusing. Sometimes yeah, sometimes not. Electricity is easier.”

“Perhaps it has to do with being human,” Castiel says, placing his hand on his heart where he’s sitting on his bed, “people are electronically charged.”

“Might be,” Dean huffs, “also please tell me if you find out what I am now. Am I the electrical charge? Am I a soul, a spirit? An after-image of the brain? It’s weird that being dead doesn’t reward you with these answers.”

“What happened when you died?”

“I was crossing the street. There was a truck running red lights. Or it was me who was running red lights, I don’t know who’s to blame. I don’t remember anything after that. There was a force pushing me from my left-” Dean places his hand in his left arm instinctively, “and then there was silence and darkness. I don’t remember if someone was there, or if there was an ambulance, or anything.”

“And since then, you’ve been…”

“Wandering around. I found early on that I can no longer get far. The closer I was to the theater, the stronger I felt. When I dance, it’s almost as if I exist again.”

“Dean,” Castiel says. It’s a plea — he doesn’t know what else to say. When Dean looks down at him, he pats the bed next to him. Slowly, Dean comes to sit down. 

This close, Dean’s eyes seem so green. They’re the shade of trees, of spring and summer, of  _ life _ . Castiel feels a strange urge to hold Dean, to soothe him, to tell him everything’s fine.

Words will have to do now.

“I’m here with you, Dean.”

He scoffs, looking down. “I don’t need to be rescued, Cas.”

“Of course not. Still, I’m here.”

There’s a beat of silence, after which Dean nods. “Thank you. You don’t owe me this.”

 

They talk. 

Dean always knew he would die young. He was the type to get into trouble due to self-negligence, and had always been more worried about his brother than himself. He didn’t regret it now, but if he could have a second chance, he’d try to balance their lives out a little better. Castiel also finds out that Dean’s brother, Sam, is actually the guy Jess is dating, and now he understands the bittersweetness behind Dean’s way of talking about him before.

They also talk more personal stuff. Dean lets himself get carried away talking about his life as a ghost, how he was used to traveling alone, unseen to all. First, it was a blessing — he didn’t like talking to strangers on buses and subways to begin with, and getting a freebie with that was incredibly cool. But then, it became repetitive, and dull, and seeing people talk to each other and enjoy each other’s company started to make him bitter. Soon, the only thing he had was dancing.

Castiel feels guilty about taking Dean’s place, and the feeling can’t be fully dissipated even though Dean tells him a thousand times it’s okay. Even though Castiel would like to tell someone about Dean, they both decide it’s better to not drag other people into this delicate situation.

At some point, they end up lying on the bed. After laughing at Dean’s surprise snap at the hilltop, a silence falls. Castiel’s accustomed to some of Dean’s silences; he knows his offended silence, his angry silence, and his awkward silence of nothing-to-say — but this is the first silence filled with anticipation.

Castiel’s fingers tingle. He aches for things he never knew he could ache for — to take Dean in his arms and fall asleep next to him, to wake up and run his fingertips on his cheek, his neck and his back.

He shakes his head to hide his blush. 

“So, uh,” Dean says, absently licking his lips. “When we met and went to the park for coffee I couldn’t have, I told you I’m hooked to talking with you. It’s been a while since I died, and I used to be fine with not being seen or heard. I’d made my peace, somewhat. But seeing you take my place in the group made me angry at first, and then jealous, and finally… Glad. I’m glad I got to talk to someone before I inevitably fade away.”

It’s nowhere close to where Castiel’s head is at, and that’s probably why he feels so attacked by the idea of Dean leaving.

“Do you… Feel like you’re fading?”

“Well, before, I could, for example, flicker lights all day and I didn’t need any particular feelings for that. Now, though-”

He falls silent again. Castiel waits it out.

“Now I really needed to get angry.”

“You mentioned breaking the tension before. I don’t know what you meant by that.”

“Okay, so,” Dean starts, turns to his side to face Castiel better, “I’m a ghost, so I can say this. Bear with me.”

Castiel mirrors his position and scoots a bit closer. It doesn’t matter, right? It’s not like they can actually touch.

“I shall. Tell me.”

“I hate that Balthazar thinks he can just own your ass like you’re one of his conquests. I mean, it’s not like I have anything against the guy. I bet you’ve noticed he’s cool, too. But still… Seeing him ask you out like that, it just…”

The blush that had almost completely faded by this point returns with a new tint.

“Dean, are you saying you were-”

“Uh, don’t even say it,” he stops him, “I don’t want to hear the sentence and realize how pathetic that makes me.”

“I think it’s kind of a primitive reaction.”

“For me to feel possessive over someone I don’t even know that well? And what was I about to do, come take you out myself?”

Castiel hums. “Worth a try, maybe. I don’t like my body invaded, you’re a ghost. Win-win.”

“I can always literally possess you. That must count as an invasion.”

Their low-key flirting hangs in the air, unfinished. Castiel feels dizzy and warm for a moment, but then he remembers what brought their discussion here.

“Do you think you’re seriously about to fade?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m an after-image as it is. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Please,” Castiel starts, and he really wants to continue with  _ try to hold on _ but chooses otherwise, “at least let me know if it gets worse, alright?”

Dean nods, but Castiel’s seen that expression enough times on other people to know he’s lying to protect him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

After Rowena finds her musician, things start moving fast. 

They finish their rough plan of a show and start practicing every night. Rowena gets the old grand piano tuned and sits a young woman called Gilda in front of it, and she doesn’t move away after that. Castiel loves her ability to make random compositions to fit a mood, and she promises to have something more tangible for them in a month. 

Every Monday, they start by watching a version of the ballet. Every Friday, they hold a meeting and argue about details.

Dean is around, too. Now that Castiel knows the entirety of his situation, he knows better how to act with him around. There’s no more light flickering necessary, since just like Balthazar promised, he stays on a strictly friendly basis. Castiel likes his flamboyant personality and ability to hold an audience — just like there’s something in each of the group members that he likes. He finally starts to feel like he belongs.

Castiel tries his best to balance his time between the restaurant, Gabriel’s errands, the dancing, and Dean. It usually ends up with Dean spending time with him wherever — in the kitchen, in his apartment while he’s cooking or sleeping, or in the theater. They share thoughts on Albrecht’s character and his possible performance, and have heated arguments about his true nature. 

The irony of Albrecht being head over heels in love with a ghost isn’t lost on Castiel, either.

Dean doesn’t mention it, but Castiel knows his fading experiences are getting worse. Where he first could travel pretty much anywhere with Castiel, he’s now started to bail on him. First, it was Lynn Woods, then his tours with Gabriel — Dean’s snarky, albeit kind-hearted, commentary about Castiel’s brother made him laugh multiple times — and finally, the Public Garden. It pains Castiel more than he’d like to admit; he’s only known the guy for two months, and it’s way too soon to get so attached to someone.

He wonders whether it’s just because Dean can’t exactly get too close. Would he feel this way if Dean was alive? Would he feel safe around him enough to open up to him, if he had to fear being misunderstood and touched without his consent?

 

“You seem troubled,” Charlie says one day, and takes a seat next to Castiel. He finishes tying up his pinkie toe to the next one — he can’t believe he missed the landing en pointe and tried to fix it all wrong — and looks up at her, frowning.

“You’re right. I am troubled.”

“Can I help you somehow?”

“Actually, yes. I’ve got a hypothetical question. Do you have a second?”

“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t. Don’t stall, hit me.”

“If there’s someone in your life that you spend time with-”

“Like me?” she grins. “Or like someone dreamy?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.”

Castiel tries to form his words better before speaking. He knows Dean is in the theater too, hearing whatever he’s going to say. For some reason, it doesn’t make him want to censor things — it has the opposite effect. It’s best if Dean knows where he’s at, too.

“I’ve never thought of anyone being dreamy,” he says then. “It’s always been somewhere in the distance for me. I prefer it that way; I’ve never missed anyone or wanted someone to have and to hold like, I assume, many do.”

“Until now, I take it?”

“No, I… Haven’t really thought of it. I don’t know if I think this person is dreamy because he’s unattainable and thus automatically plays into many of the characteristics I value in people. Do I like him because I like him, or because he’s the type of person I always assumed I would like if I were to like anyone?”

“Castiel, my dearest little dork,” Charlie says with a fond smile. “Aren’t you making this a little hard on yourself?”

“I think it’s a valid question.”

Charlie looks into the distance, and for a moment, it looks as if she can see Dean, who appears from the back of the audience. Castiel wonders whether it’s a gesture to soothe him; to make it seem like Dean wasn’t listening in.

“How do you even get any dancing done? How come you don’t trip on your own two feet?”

“Hey! I’m fast on my feet and you know that.”

“Oh, it’s not your feet I’m worried about. It’s that heavy thing on your shoulders you call a head.” Castiel rolls his eyes, but Charlie goes on. “Do you dance with your thoughts, or with your feelings?”

“A combination of both. As, you know, I’m doing right now, too. I don’t deny myself feeling like this, even though I wonder how real it is.”

“Does it matter?”

“What? Of course it matters if what I feel is real.”

“Yes, of course it does. Feelings are complicated, dude. Your heart doesn’t figure ‘oh, I like this because this is what I thought I’d like’ and then dismiss the liking as something mundane. No, sir. You like someone even though you didn’t think you had it in you? Neat. Go get ‘em.”

“Like I said, this is all purely hypothetical. Even if I knew what I wanted and wanted to have it, I couldn’t. Hence my description of him as  _ unattainable _ .”

“Okay. You sure about that?”

“Wow. Yeah, Charlie, I am. I’m absolutely certain.”

She shrugs and gets on her feet. “Okay, then. I just- Don’t put labels on yourself, okay? They’re restricting and there’s certainly problematic aspects to the whole ‘gold star’ sexuality thing.”

“I… Don’t know what that is.”

“Uh, if I’d never done it with a guy, I’d be a gold star lesbian. Some people place so much value on that it becomes inherently biphobic. Also, you can be ace even if you want to get closer to someone. It doesn’t make you any less valid.”

Castiel shrugs. “I… I hadn’t labeled myself as such. I just never thought it would happen to me. I’ve never felt it.”

Charlie smiles and places her hand briefly on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Well, let this be your first, then.”

 

#

 

Talking with Charlie doesn’t help Castiel at all. Now whenever he enters the theater, he feels dizzy and tingly all over. It’s an inconvenient distraction, because as days turn into weeks and suddenly it’s the middle of July, time is running out. The music is turning out beautifully, Rowena is talking more than she’s yelling, and their ads online and in the newspaper are bringing in questions and reservations. They give out exactly two interviews — both to local papers to keep it classy — and keep on grinding.

 

The first time Castiel truly feels everything is coming together is during dress rehearsal. He can tell the others feel it, too: Charlie is beaming in the street version of Giselle’s clothing Dorothy lovingly made for her, Balthazar’s getting fully in character for a change, and Rowena’s eyes are glowing from maternal pride like never before.

  
In addition to dancing both acts – first just to get through them, then to pay attention to those particularly difficult spots they still struggle with – they move the props. Since there are no assistants to do it for them, some creativity is needed in order to get both themselves and the stage ready before the second act begins. Castiel manages to tear Albrecht’s clothes while pulling a village hut across the stage, but it’s nothing a shot of hot glue won’t fix. 

  
Dean never strays too far. He’s either sitting in the front row, or he’s walking next to Castiel, or he’s doing his own little dance routine at the edge of the stage. Castiel can feel Dean’s eyes caress his body when he moves, and he lets himself indulge in the moments. If Dean did hear what Castiel talked about with Charlie, he’s being very graceful and discreet about it.

  
Albrecht’s dance with Bathilde and Giselle turns out to be one of Castiel’s favorite parts of the whole project. In addition to getting to see Charlie’s stunning performance as the dying Giselle from up close, he also acts more than anywhere else – he portrays love, shame, and guilt in fluid steps and frantic movements. If he’s thinking about Dean when he’s begging Giselle to stay, and when he’s begging for Bathilde to stay, well, nobody needs to know.

  
How he wants to beg for Dean to stay. How he wants him to know that he’d be willing to sacrifice quite a bit to keep Dean around, watching him like this, never venturing too far away… It feels selfish, but it also feels like something a lot bigger, something Castiel can’t let himself think now that it seems that their time together is going to end.

 

#

“I need to talk to you.”

They walk in silence. Castiel opens and closes his mouth like a fish. Nothing comes out.

There’s finality in Dean’s voice. For some reason, Castiel’s brain supplies him with the conversation he had with Charlie. What if Dean’s angry because Castiel has developed emotions? 

_ Developed emotions… _

That sounds odd even to him. It’s like they’d always been bubbling just beneath the surface, and when Dean came along, he finally found out why.

It sounds much deeper than it should, with them having known each other for such a little time. Realizing that doesn’t make Castiel feel it any less.

Dean leads them back to the Public Garden and sits them down on a bench next to the pond. A willow tree reaches out its limber branches above them, and next to them, a delphinium bed is in full bloom.

“I’m surprised you brought us here,” Castiel starts then, tentatively, “I’d figured this as a place you don’t want to be in.”

“I can’t be here anymore,” Dean admits. Without saying more, he raises his hand.

The edges of his fingers are blurring, blending into the background — disappearing.

Castiel holds his breath.

“I… Don’t know what to do in a situation like this,” Dean proceeds, “So if you could help me out, that would be great.”

He shakes his hand as if that would help and then pushes it under his thigh. It doesn’t matter — his thigh is just as blurry.

“It comes and goes. First, I thought it was related to places. I love the theater and I thought that’s what I needed to be at, and to cut off my traveling around the city, but it happens there, as well. I… God, Cas, I gotta admit, I’m a bit freaked out.”

“I know,” Castiel finally says. “Dean, I’m freaked out too.”

Dean nods. “I can’t believe I was in this situation to begin with. I should’ve just died. I would never have had to go through any of this. Or… Or put you through any of this, you know.”

“No,” Castiel interjects, “don’t say that. I’m pleased to know you. Even if it brings me pain, I want to experience things.”

“There’s something I want to experience, too. But first, let’s sit here for a while.”

They watch two swans slide past them on the pond in silence.

“Do you believe in anything?” Castiel asks then. “Like… Like a force of some kind.”

“Well, I didn’t believe in ghosts before I was one,” Dean says with a dry laugh, “it’s not like I can decide it. Things happen. Shit happens. I don’t want to believe in a god that lets the world be the way it is, but eh, I don’t know. To completely deny such existing force either sounds awfully self-righteous.”

Castiel nods. “I know what you mean. I’m a bit of an agnostic myself. Still, for some reason…”

He lets the end of the sentence slide, but Dean’s sigh is knowing.

“Yeah. I kind of wish it wasn’t over either.”

“Can I ask you something? It’s personal.”

Dean nods.

“Are you buried somewhere?”

He watches Dean squint and consider the question for a while before shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s not like I have a lot to do with my body anymore.”

“Okay. I was just thinking. I will want to bring you flowers.”

“Plant a damn cherry tree and act weird around it,” Dean laughs, and it only slightly sounds hollow and sorrowful, “that can be your final gift to me. Now, can we go to your place?”

“Hmm?”

“Like I said, I want to do something with you. We could go to the theater, but since you’re inviting me for the night again, it’s better to do it there.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s not like I could deny a man his dying wish.”

 

They make their way to Castiel’s place. As soon as they’re both inside, Dean turns to Castiel and takes a couple of steps back.

“Okay. I know it’s really crowded in here for an elaborate dance, but I want us to dance together.”

Castiel blinks. “Uh, okay?”

“I don’t even care what it is. Damn, we can do Albrecht, or anything. I just want to experience dancing with you.”

“Do you want to be Giselle? You’ve certainly got what it takes,” Castiel hums and proceeds to take his shoes and socks off. “Although, I’ve got to tell you right now, I’m not going to be able to lift you up.”

When Castiel straightens back up, he locks eyes with Dean. The fire in his gaze drains all lame jokes out of his head immediately, and then, they’re both professionals. Castiel takes his phone from his pocket to put on a song — he’s choosing Soap & Skin to set the mood. After placing the phone on a flat surface, he’s dancing.

It’s oddly intimate. This is not the first time he’s dancing with only one person watching, but it’s certainly the first time he’s so deeply involved with someone he dances with. Dean mirrors his movements first, making them a single entity, two parts of an engine, but soon enough, they’re improvising a slow choreography that holds more emotion than any words they could say. 

Castiel brings both his hands on each side of Dean’s head and Dean bends backwards under his maneuvers. Castiel lets his palms travel on top of Dean’s chest, almost touching, almost — before leaning back himself and taking a slide step back. Dean’s breath stutters for a second, and then he’s reaching out for Castiel again. They come together in the middle of the small apartment, stand inches away from each other, each other’s arms and faces and lips, and breathe into each other’s air. Castiel swears he can feel Dean’s warmth, his breathing, his hand that he raises to hold on Castiel’s cheek.

The song ends and they stare at each other. A moment, and then a moment longer.

There are tears in Castiel’s eyes. He tries to blink them off, but instead, they insistently fall on his cheeks and down towards his jaw. Dean glances down at Castiel’s mouth, and lets out a low chuckle.

“I never knew dying would up my game this much.”

Castiel shakes his head to clear it. “What?”

“You’re way out of my league, man. But take it from me. If I was alive, I would court you in a heartbeat.”

“I… Court?”

“I don’t know. Take you out for a dinner. Walk on the beach. By third date, hold your hand if that’s what you wanted.”

“I would ask you to please not put any expectations on me and probably bail on you the instant I found out your intentions were of the romantic kind.”

“I know. And I respect you.”

Castiel steps back. “Good thing you’re a ghost, though. I would be so scared to feel like this for someone who’s alive.”

Dean laughs and takes a bow. “Thank you for the dance, dear sir.”

“Likewise. And you’re right. I’m going to ask you to spend the night.”

 

Castiel and Dean both lie on their sides and stare at each other through most of the night. Castiel wants to remember every freckle on Dean’s beautiful face, and every word he’s ever said,  and every second they got to spend with each other against all odds. What he doesn’t want to remember, though, is how Dean’s face mirrors the pain Castiel is feeling, and how every passing minute makes Dean blurrier around the edges. Once, Dean lifts his hand and they both can see through it. Dean says he’s scared. Castiel wants nothing more than to hold him, soothe him, break all the mental barriers he ever held because he was too afraid to admit he’s falling in love. 

He doesn’t want to fall asleep, but when the first rays of the sun reach his windows, he can’t seem to keep his eyes open. It would help to get up from the bed, to stretch himself, to occupy his mind and body. But he can’t — he wants to have every second of this, every minute of the feeling he never thought he’d be able to bathe in. The last thought before he falls asleep is  _ I can’t believe I got to have this. _

In the morning, Dean is gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the tagged brief suicidal thought below. If that feels like too much, skip paragraphs 4 and 5 starting with "When" and "He's".

For the first week, Castiel sulks.

He goes through the motions of his everyday life. The theater group cuts him some slack, which is obviously more than he deserves. The premiere is closing in and he doesn’t feel any of the thoughts or moods he tries to engage himself in feel right. Albrecht is turning out to be full of unattainable emotions, and even Rowena notices it. She tries to talk to him, to pull him apart from the group and have a heart-to-heart with him, but has to leave with nothing. As anticipation rises, so does pressure — and suddenly it feels like they’re in a kettle, trying to place a lid to stop it from boiling over. They snap at each other, fight over petty details, and generally act just as dramatic as could be assumed from a bunch of drama kids. 

Truth be told, he’s not looking forward to performing in the whole show anymore. He hates that the only person he wants to dance for is not going to be there to see it.

When Castiel’s not dancing, he drowns himself at work. First, he wanted to try climbing, hoping that physical exercise could distract him from Dean. He chooses Stage Fort Park instead of Lynn Woods to further this plan, but the moment he throws his grapple, he’s thinking of how he shouldn’t be alone in here. When he’s up on top of the hill, he briefly considers just jumping. Would he be able to join Dean then?

He’s not self-destructive, so he stares at the ocean for a moment and leaves.

During the nights he cries. He hates that he felt it necessary to bring Dean into his apartment and into his bed. He can almost feel him lying on the other side of the bed even now — and if he closes his eyes, he can at least imagine it. He realizes there are pathetic amounts of pillow-holding and sobbing. He can’t help it.

When the second week ends, he has a plan. No matter what he did or didn’t talk about with Dean, he wants to find out more about the man he came to care for so deeply. He wants to know what kind of a man he was, where he’s buried, and hopefully get some closure through that.

This brings him to talk to Jess. She’s rewinding her scenes of Giselle 1983 over and over in the darkness of the back room. It smells like paint in there — some of the props are still drying. Castiel notices his garment lies untouched on the table, even though he meant to do some alterations on it with haphazard stitches and hot glue.

“Jess, can I ask you something?”

She looks up from the screen and nods. 

“How well did you know him?”

“Who, now?”

“The one we shouldn’t talk about in this theater.”

Realization dawns on Jess’ face, and for a while, she looks at Castiel as if to determine what he’s worth.

“Are you planning to become him, or…?”

“I’m not planning anything. I genuinely want to know.”

“What do you want to know? I won’t tell you anything too private.”

“How do you feel now that he’s gone?”

She frowns. “What? That’s what you want to know? I thought this was more about him.”

“I guess I’m more interested in what kind of a vibe he gave off to others. I mean, I know he’s your brother-in-law, and that’s why I’m talking to you.”

“Well, he was a pain in the ass, that’s for one,” Jess mutters. “But loyal, too. Arrogant, emotionally constipated, but fiercely loving and protective when it comes to family. So yeah, of course I miss him. It fucking sucks not to have him around.”

“Were you family or colleagues first?”

“I met Sam in college and we’ve been dancing together ever since. He doesn’t dance in public or have any desire to do so, but he’s a good sparring partner. His brother, I met about a year later when he decided it was a good time to crash our private Christmas party for two. Sam’s relationship with him is something unique. I think Sam feels he’s in debt for letting him take care of them both for such a long time.”

Castiel nods, not really knowing how to proceed from here. He’s never really talked to Jess alone, and while he hates that it’ now driven by  his selfish agenda of getting to know Dean better post-mortem, he can’t help the questions bubbling up.

“How do you think you’re doing now, as a group? I don’t have anything to compare to, so I wouldn’t know.”

“I think Balthazar’s doing super well, probably mostly because he’s jealous that  _ you’re  _ doing so well. Dorothy and Charlie are always fine, because they’ve got each other. I think it’s hardest for Kevin and Jo. Jo’s like a sister to him. Of course, I’m not doing that well either, but it’s because we’re family. Still, everyone’s pulling through and I know we’ll have a good premiere. After that, it’s a breeze.”

“Were you-”

“Hey, Castiel,” Jess interjects, not unkindly. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, and this is starting to feel like a third degree. I think you should just focus on your own stuff, okay? It’s not that I don’t like talking to you, but this seriously isn’t the right time to come at me with this stuff. I will get distracted and I will blame you for it.”

“That’s right,” he says and leans away from the table he’s been firmly resting his palms on, “I’m sorry. I only want to know one more thing.”

“If it’s fast, then, sure.”

“Where is he buried?”

Jess blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, I’m not going to, like… I would just like to pay my respects to my predecessor.”

She frowns and bites her lip before picking up her phone and making a call.

“Sam? Hey, love. Where are you?”

Castiel is torn between staying and leaving, because this can either be a call related to him or she’s just using Sam to get Castiel off her back. Soon enough, though, the call ends.

“Alright. Here’s the address for Sam. Talk to him.”

“Uh, why?”

“If you want any further information… Talk to my lawyer. Nah, just talk to Sam as the brother of your, like you put it, predecessor. He holds the strings to all the information, so I can’t disclose anything else.”

 

Sam lives in an apartment at West Fens. It makes sense — it’s not that far from Beacon Hill, thus making Dean’s transport here possible. Castiel rings the doorbell while wondering how many times exactly Dean came here. How many times did he watch over his brother like a guardian angel after his own death? It makes him sad thinking about it, but he distracts himself just in time for Sam to open the door.

“Hi,” he says politely and offers his hand, “Sam Winchester. You must be Castiel. I mean- I mean of course you are. I love your work.”

Castiel nods humbly. For some reason, he’d been expecting Sam to be too lawyer-y to have seen him around. 

“Please, come in.”

Castiel follows him through the door to a narrow hallway. The walls are filled with pictures taken from everywhere in the world, and mostly with Jess — Paris, Shanghai, Tokyo, Barcelona — but some of them are with Dean.

He looks breathtaking. In some of the pictures, he smiles wider than Sam. In some, he’s blushing because he doesn’t really want his picture taken. In some, there’s a calm, a serenity in him that Castiel never got to see. It looks like he was happy to be alive; even if some of his experiences are darker. They never really discussed difficulties, but there was something looming under the surface; a big, life-altering event that left him just a little fractured.

“Do you want coffee, tea, anything?”

“Tea would be nice, thank you. Black, if possible.”

Sam nods and heads to the kitchen. Castiel lets himself enjoy the pictures for a second longer before joining him.

There’s something in Sam’s gestures and expressions that reminds Castiel of Dean, even though otherwise they don’t look that much alike. Still, Sam looks like a good person, and that’s exactly what Castiel feels he needs right now. He’s too broken to put up facades, but maybe Sam would understand.

“Alright, you wanted to know about Dean,” Sam starts then, placing a big cup of strawberry tea in front of Castiel. “There’s something Jess wanted to tell you, but since I’m responsible for Dean’s information, she sent you to me. Anyway, there’s something you need to know.”


	8. Chapter 8

Waking up sucks.

Dean’s too tired to open his eyes, but the second he does, there’s a fuss around him. Everyone’s words are blurring together and people are speaking way too loud — Dean feels as though he’s been held underwater for a decade and then brought back up. The more people bring lights in front of his eyes, the angrier he gets, and he would absolutely fume out at each and every one of the white-coats if it wasn’t for his inability to move.

He decides he wants to get back to sleep and nobody is telling him not to.

It takes a week longer before he starts freaking out about not being able to move.

A doctor comes to him and tries to talk to him. All he hears is tinnitus. He stares at the guy blankly and wonders what would happen if he spat at that condescending face. But for now, all his strength is taken by breathing alone.

Sam comes to visit soon enough, and there’s worry written all over his face — but relief, too. Apparently, he shouldn’t even know how to be alive at this point. He doesn’t know how to explain why he is. He just is.

Most of the time, Dean is angry. He slips in and out of consciousness and is woken up by poking or grabbing or flashlights in his eyes. Since he has no control over his body, he forgets to tell people he needs to take a piss before falling asleep again.

After another week, they lift the head of his bed up a little.

After three weeks, his leg reacts when scraped with a wooden spatula.

After four weeks, he finally understands what is being told to him.

He’s been in an accident. Apart from broken ribs and a ruptured spleen, he was lucky. However, they needed to operate on him, and while unconscious and in intensive care unit, he developed encephalitis that eventually landed him in a coma.

Sam had been a driving force in starting treatment — the doctors had been trying to wait it out after the MRI returned with zero head injury, but when they’d scanned him the second time a few days later, the infection had spread.

It’s shitty luck and, according to Sam, grounds for suing the hospital.

 

Dean spends around a month in the hospital getting his physical therapy started. He’s eager to relearn walking, and grabbing things, and taking things into his palms. It’s slow and frustrating, but as long as he focuses on actually doing something, he doesn’t feel the aching abyss inside him. It feels like he woke up with more than his spleen missing; as if there’s something on the back of his mind he really should remember, but can’t. There’s something else that’s new, too; every waking moment, he’s grateful to be alive. It’s like a constant loop in the back of his mind going _thank god thank god thank god thank the fuck god_ — but he’s not even religious and thus can’t really place the gratefulness.

He wakes up crying once, and tries to force himself into remembering what he dreamed about.

Eventually, he can leave. Sam finds him the best physical therapist in town in hopes of cheering him up. The physical therapist, a determined woman called Jody Mills, pushes him towards his limits every day until another month passes and it’s enough for them to meet twice a week.

He’s drinking his morning coffee on the floor when Sam heads into the kitchen. They silently agreed to live together until Dean’s fully capable of taking care of himself; mostly, they hang out in Sam’s apartment because it’s bigger. Now, though, his son-of-a-bitch brother hits him around the head with a newspaper.

“Good morning, Dean. You know what we’re doing today?”

“Sitting on our asses, I guess?”

“Nope. Get this. It’s the last day of Giselle. You’re going to have to get there and see it for yourself.”

A sinking feeling settles in Dean’s stomach. “No way I’m going to go see how well they’re doing with the new guy. They came to see me in the hospital, and in here too, and both times they tried to low-key tell me they’ve exceeded their own expectations. I don’t need to rub salt in my wounds and besides, they haven’t invited me.”

“It’s because Rowena told them not to,” Sam says, lowering his gaze slightly, “I’m sorry. She sent you a thousand kisses and told me to not allow you to come. She said it’d mess up the group dynamics, but since it’s the last performance, I say fuck it. You’re going to want to see it.”

“Have you?”

“Dude, my girlfriend dances there. Of course I’ve seen it, like, four times.”

Dean nods. “And it’s good.”

“Like I said, you’re going to want to see it.”

Dean considers for a second. Could he actually go see how well they’re doing without him? It’s not like he could dance in a while anyway, so he shouldn’t feel this protective over what he had before the accident. Would it hurt him to go support his friends?

Then again, Rowena told him not to, which finally seals the deal for him.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

#

No matter what kind of thoughts he had before entering the theater, they’re all through the door as soon as the show starts.

Dean was expecting they’d use remixes of the original music or something. Instead, there’s a grand piano tucked at the end of the stage, and a constantly smiling young woman is playing it live. The compositions could be her own, but they work with the dancing as if they were original missing pieces now rediscovered.

The backdrop is surprisingly nice, too. Having worked in the group before, Dean knows they have to make those themselves, and it includes a lot of painting, repainting, and cutting of both cardboard and fingers. Still, the village looks pretty and cozy.

Charlie and Rowena are both shining as Giselle and her mother. Charlie’s dancing is playful, almost child-like, and it transforms into something more lyrical and flirty when she’s together with Albrecht.

Oh, and Albrecht. Right.

Dean wants to hate the guy, he does. But the moment he starts dancing, he’s swept off his proverbial feet and glued to his chair in the front row. He’s classically trained, holds himself upright with ease and has the kind of fire in his movements Dean adores. And while he’s portraying Albrecht’s feelings perfectly, there’s something so personal, and so undeniably sad, in his dance it’s hard for Dean not to cry every time he’s onstage.

He only takes a small mental step back from his admiration upon realizing the dancer is actually Castiel Novak. Wow, Rowena really went big after Dean — and undeniably more douchey. Still, he can’t deny talent when he sees it.

It’s really nice to see all of them on stage together. He loves how beautifully Jess is performing the role of Myrtha, and he loves the look on Sam’s face even more. He’s so proud of his girlfriend, and for good reason.

Dean can’t wait to get better and start dancing again; Jody said it would take a while before his finer motor functions were good enough for that. He feels normal, though, and hates the feeling of incompetence.

 

After the show and a standing ovation, the audience leaves. Sam and Dean stay behind to have a chat with the dancers, and as soon as they get backstage, there’s at least four people clinging on to Dean.

“I am so glad you came,” Charlie mutters from where she’s nestled around his chest, “Í love you and I’m so glad to see you’re well.”

“We would’ve held a private show for you if you hadn’t,” Jess says.

“Please never leave us again. It’s been horrible without you,” Kevin whispers, but there’s a glint in his eye that suggests they’ve done perfectly well without his tantrums.

He lifts his gaze and meets Castiel Novak’s.

Now, Dean’s seen people look at him in envy, and in shock, and in awe, and in admiration. He’s met a lot of people who consider him either a good or a bad person by face value, and he’s met the wrath of people who he mistreated. Still, there’s nothing that could’ve prepared him for the way Novak looks at him.

And there’s nothing that could’ve prepared him for the way his mind, upon first eye contact, goes _I’m so grateful I get to see you again_.

He shakes his head, but it doesn’t clear. Castiel frowns at him.

“Ahh, there you are,” Balthazar says. Dean’s snapped back into reality when Balthazar slaps his shoulder playfully. “Didn’t think I’d see you up and about again.”

“Me neither,” Dean mutters. He watches Castiel walk up to Rowena and them leaving the room together.

“Nice, right? Didn’t think Rowena had it in her to hire him.”

“They’re both classically trained and famous. I think it only makes sense. Is… I had the feeling…” Dean sighs, because he doesn’t know where to even start. “Is he angry at me?”

“I think he’s angry Rowena considered you dead enough to never tell him you’re not,” Balthazar says with a shrug and glances at the door they just walked through. “He might be fearing for his spot now that you’ve returned.”

“He shouldn’t. I won’t be able to dance for a while.”

“Then tell him that, I guess. Anyway, glad to have you back,” he says with a grin that seems absolutely genuine and slaps him again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I promised my boyfriend I’d take him out.”

Dean nods and turns back to his friends, who are planning to go grab lunch now. They want Dean to tag along and share stories about his recovery, and even though Dean wants nothing more than talk to Castiel now, he agrees. He could always get his number.

 

_Hello, Castiel. This is Dean Winchester. I know this comes out of the blue, seeing that we’re strangers and all, but could we meet?_

**Why?**

_I heard Rowena told you I’m dead. I can’t be sorry for her, but I want to meet up with you and explain you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. The guys all love you. They’re not gonna let you go._

**I will have to decline.**

_Why?_

**You already told me what you want to say. We should be done here.**

_I want to discuss something else, as well._

**What’s that?**

_Why do you hate me?_

**I don’t hate you, Dean Winchester.**

_Why are you so snappy, then?_

**Have you ever been to Lynn Woods?**

_What?_

**Just answer me.**

_No. Well, maybe as a kid with Sam. Why?_

**That’s what I thought. Now, please leave me alone.**

Dean places his phone on the table and sighs. Well, that didn’t go according to plan. If Sam were here right now, he’d tell Dean to drop it.

He can’t.

#

It takes a couple of weeks to bump into Castiel now that their performances are over. Dean takes a couple of walks through Lynn Woods in hopes of meeting him, and also visits the theater regularly, but it’s his exhaustion that finally lands him in Castiel’s atmosphere.

He’s been looking for Christmas presents for Sam and Jess. He’s the worst at pacing himself — instead of buying gifts during the fall, he leaves everything last minute and thus needs to make it through the worst crowds of the year. Still, he ends up with a good, albeit haphazard, haul before deciding he deserves a treat. He steps in through the doors of Anna’s restaurant and takes a seat with his belongings.

“Hello and welcome,” a deep voice says next to him soon enough, “what can I do for you?”

He looks up and meets eyes as blue and as infinite as the sky. Castiel. Dean’s mouth runs dry and he instinctively leans forward as if his very essence is longing for — for what, exactly?

Castiel’s face, on the other hand, stays pointedly neutral.

“I-”

“Burger, right?”

“Yes,” Dean says quickly and before stopping himself, continues with, “and you. Take a break from work. We need to talk.”

Castiel scrutinizes him with a head tilt. “Why, exactly?”

“Please, Cas. Give me a minute. Please.”

That changes something. Was it the nickname? Was it him pathetically pleading? Dean doesn’t know, but Castiel’s expression turns softer, almost kind. It makes Dean’s heart bang against his ribs.

“Okay. I’ll make you the burger and tell Anna I’m having my lunch now.”

“Thank you,” Dean sighs. Castiel leaves and as Dean watches him go, he knows he’s missing something enormous here.

 

Castiel returns with two burgers a moment later. He sits across from Dean in the booth and crosses his hands on the table.

“Alright, Dean. You’ve worn me out. Talk to me.”

Dean swallows. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start anywhere. I’m eating now.”

Castiel takes the burger in his hands and admires it before taking a bite. Dean wishes he’d planned what to say — he’s had weeks, for god’s sake.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you, but whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve done nothing to me.”

“Why do you act like this around me, then?”

“Like what?”

Dean sighs. Way to make him feel stupid about himself. “I don’t know. You snap at me, and you refuse to… It’s like I’ve insulted you, and I haven’t even had the chance to talk to you yet.”

“How do you know I don’t act like this towards everyone I meet?”

“People like you. I know my friends like you. If you’re this angry towards them, as well, I don’t know what it is they see in you.”

“I’m not angry, Dean.”

“Oh,” he says, dumbly, “then what are you? Disappointed?”

Castiel looks up at him. They hold the eye contact for a second and Dean has to stop himself from reaching out.

“Disappointed, maybe. Mostly, I’m just sad.”

“Why? Have I done something to make you sad? Did you come see me at the hospital when I was in a coma? Did you come when I was awake but too distracted by my coma brain to realize anything?”

“I thought you were dead until a couple of weeks ago, so no, I didn’t,” Castiel says.

“I don’t like Rowena doing this to you. It must’ve been shit to find out.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean tries not to be insulted by the gesture. “Please don’t try to guess what’s going on in my mind. You’ve got no idea.”

“Of course I don’t. You refuse to tell me.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“That’s because you won’t even try. You pretend to know me but you don’t.”

Castiel looks up at him again, his jaw clenching. He squints and tilts his head again. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you,” Dean huffs. Castiel looks around and leans closer before talking.

“Rowena wasn’t the only person who told me you died. You were the second. You came to me as a fucking ghost, and we hung out for a couple of months. Now, I don’t know how the hell it’s possible for you to come to me as a ghost because you’re actually not dead, and I don’t know how you can spend that much time with me and not fucking remember me after.”

Dean opens his mouth, and closes it. “I… That’s impossible, dude.”

Castiel pushes his plate away from him, burger half-finished. “Don’t you tell me what I went through was impossible.”

“Okay! Okay. I won’t,” Dean says, lifting his arms in defeat, “Okay. So. We hung out together. Now, I don’t know what to say. Do I believe you? Maybe. But I need you to tell me something only I could’ve told you.”

Castiel looks at him with mirth in his eyes. “I don’t have time for this shit. You’re not going to believe me anyway. I am done with you. Rest assured, I will find a new group to dance with.”

He stands up to leave, and in a surge of panic about this conversation ending, Dean reaches out and gently closes his hand around Castiel’s wrist.

First, he believes he’s having a seizure — vivid images pass before his eyes and it both feels and doesn’t feel like when he woke up in the hospital.

Lynn Woods. Public Garden. A big kitchen Dean doesn’t recognize.

Dean quickly pulls his hand away and buries his face in his palms. He can’t breathe. What the hell- What the hell is going on? Are these memories from before the accident? He still can’t remember what exactly happened to him, so he surely could miss more than just that?

“Dean?”

Castiel’s voice is worried. He places his hand on Dean’s upper arm and squeezes it firmly. Dean wants to open his eyes, but he can’t. Instead, he slowly moves his hand on top of Castiel’s.

The shore. Cherry trees. The theater.

And besides just seeing random places, Dean starts feeling. It hits right in the middle of the abyss he’s been trying to avoid and makes him shaky all over. He squeezes Castiel’s hand and finally looks up at him, his other hand still covering half his face.

“Cas,” he whispers, “what the hell is-”

“Do you need help?” Castiel asks. “Should I call the ambulance?”

“No, no,” Dean says, almost frantically. He moves his other hands slowly towards Castiel, but stops short just before touching his face.

The apartment. Castiel’s apartment. Dancing.

Together.

Dean shivers. “Cas…”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I-” He notices his hand is still hanging mid-air. “Can I?”

Castiel blinks slowly and looks at Dean’s hand. He leans back, letting go.

“Meet me after work. We should talk about this.”

#

They meet in the park. It’s cold, and Dean wants nothing more than for it to be a summer night again.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says and takes a seat next to him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replies. Castiel frowns at him, and Dean clears his throat.

“Okay, first of all, I’m sorry for freaking out like that. I’m sorry for trying to touch you. I just…”

“Why did you?”

“I feel this inexplicable pull towards you. It’s as if I’ve had a dream in which I was so lonely… Until I wasn’t. God, Cas, I was so fucking lonely.”

“Dean,” Castiel says. His voice sounds demanding.

“Still, I shouldn’t just expect things to suddenly change. It’s been… How long has it been?”

“Four months.”

“Of course. I woke up four months ago. I shouldn’t just expect anything. It must’ve hurt like shit when I didn’t remember.”

“What makes you think that?”

Dean shrugs, but he knows he needs to say more in order to convince Castiel into hanging out with him again. “I feel warm. I was so lonely, and I remember not being lonely anymore. I remember places, and laughing. We had a good time, right? If you’re feeling anything close to what I am beginning to right now, it must’ve hurt to suddenly see me not remembering.”

“Right,” Castiel says. The hint of anger he had before is long gone. His breath is shaking now. “Okay.”

“And I need to remember everything, Cas, I do.”

Castiel takes his glove off and places his hand on top of Dean’s. The warmth spills all over Dean’s body.

He remembers Castiel.

Oh, fuck. He remembers — it all happens so fast in his head he needs to grind his teeth in attempt to slow it down. He remembers watching Castiel dance, and Castiel watching him dance, and their nightly walks, and hanging out in the restaurant — Anna’s restaurant — kitchen. He remembers how much he’d wanted to kiss Castiel under the cherry tree when Castiel turned out to be the most beautiful, eccentric being in the universe.

He remembers them lying down in Castiel’s bed and talking through the night.

Castiel never pulls his hand away, so Dean has time to sort it all out. When he believes he’s mostly done, he needs to blink away a couple of tears.

“Cas,” he says quietly and turns his hand so he can squeeze Castiel’s. “Oh, Cas.”

There’s so many things he needs to say. Right, now, though, it feels as if they’re way too public.

 

Castiel pulls him on his bed, and they lie facing each other. For a moment, they’re in silence — as if they’re both afraid something will break as soon as they talk.

“My heart is broken,” Castiel finally whispers. Dean wants to hug him, but he doesn’t; he doesn’t want to invade Castiel’s personal space.

“I know, Cas,” he answers.

“You were the first person… In my life… That,” Castiel starts, and although he tries to bite his lip, tears start falling on the pillow below him. “That I never feared would assume things from me. You didn’t care for my fame or my assumed fortune or my- or my body. You were there, and I never felt uncomfortable with you.”

“And still, I’m going to be an ass right now,” Dean mutters. “Can I hold you?”

“Oh, please,” Castiel sighs, and Dean gently wraps a shaky arm around his waist. Castiel jumps a little.

“I can’t believe you’re touching me,” he laughs through his tears. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Dean admits. “Oh, shit. This is a bit intense.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m sorry I put you through all this. I mean, from the first time I talked with you, I knew I was hooked. I should’ve just let you go without me possessing you like that.”

“Don’t,” Castiel sniffles, “I would’ve hated that. I was hooked too.”

Dean starts drawing slow circles on Castiel’s back. He leans against the touch.

“You didn’t remember me,” he says then, trying on his best frowny face. Dean wants to kiss it off, although thinking that makes him feel a little selfish. He doesn’t know what to answer, so he keeps on making circles.

“I hate what Rowena did,” Castiel admits after a while, “she should’ve told me. I mean, I know she’s dramatic and all, but this is a little more than she should’ve done.”

“She cares for her work, I guess. Still, I agree with you.”

Castiel scoots closer and places a gentle hand on Dean’s elbow. Dean notices himself leaning into it just as much as Castiel does, and if that doesn’t scream touch-starved, he doesn’t know what does. His reaction encourages Castiel to move his hand to cup Dean’s face, and even though he feels suddenly exposed and laid bare, he can’t keep his eyes off Castiel’s.

Intense.

Castiel looks at him as if he’s one of the world’s wonders, which, he guesses, he is. Still, he allows Cas’ scrutiny, the way his gaze moves from his eyes to his nose and his lips, and then to the spot his thumb is moving across on his cheek.

“I feel,” Castiel says, and takes a long, shaky inhale before continuing, “I want to kiss you.”

Dean tries to smile, but it falls flat. Instead, he just nods.

He lets Castiel do the moving. He can only imagine how important boundaries are for him, and expanding them absolutely needs to happen by Castiel’ terms. Castiel doesn’t really hesitate, though — he brushes his lips against Dean’s before pulling him closer and kissing him fully. Dean can feel Castiel leaning against him, so he squeezes him tighter with his arm, eliciting a beautiful, low moan from him.

“Dean,” he whispers then, and grabs the lapels of his plaid shirt, “are you alright? Can I come closer?”

Dean nods, and Castiel frowns. “Verbal, please.”

“Yes, yes, you can,” he answers, suddenly too winded to care how squeaky his voice sounds. Castiel kisses him again, moves his hand to the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him still closer, closer, _closer_ , Dean vaguely realizes he’s totally gone on him and that’s before Castiel lets his tongue travel across Dean’s lower lip. Dean’s body shakes in a response of its own, and he holds on for dear life when Castiel moves to kiss his jaw and neck.

“Cas,” Dean hears himself say, but Castiel shushes him, and it’s both really gentle and really possessive and Dean loves it way too much. He’s quickly getting hard and he has around a second to figure out whether that’s going to be a problem before Castiel gets up and straddles him. He spreads his fingers on Dean’s chest and slowly grinds down against Dean.

They both moan, and Castiel reaches out to take both of Dean’s hands and intertwine their fingers. Dean still can’t take his eyes off Castiel — his pupils are dilated and he looks both like a fucking god of sex incarnated and like _himself_ , like Castiel, who’s kind and compassionate and caring and Dean’s getting way too sappy way too fast.

When Castiel involuntarily moans again, there’s fear in his eyes for the slightest of seconds. Dean lifts himself up and wraps his arms around Castiel, kissing his mouth and nose gently.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“I-” Castiel starts, “I know. I know I am. Thank you, Dean.”

They melt into another kiss, and every single nerve ending in Dean’s body feels like it’s on fire. It’s almost uncomfortably strong, what he’s feeling right now, and he pulls Castiel tighter against himself — he never wants to let him go again.

Castiel grinds against Dean once more, and it makes Dean throw him backwards on the mattress. He runs his hands over his beautiful, toned legs and gives his bare ankle a kiss.

“Castiel,” he says, “can I touch you?”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I was low-key thinking of blowing you.”

“Oh,” Castiel says and clears his throat again, “oh. Well. You have my consent.”

Dean hums. “Thank you.”

He slides his hands up Castiel’s legs and over his hips, lifting his shirt slightly to give his skin small kisses. He can feel Castiel’ erection pressing against his chest and he loves it, loves that he’s the one who can make Castiel feel like this, like it’s okay for him to want things and feel this kind of pleasure. Castiel writhes and trembles under him, making it that much harder for Dean to resist just getting to it — but he wants to take his time.

Slowly, Dean hooks his fingers under Castiel’s pants and pulls them off, all at once. He kisses Castiel’s ankles again, and his shins, and knees, and as Castiel spreads his legs slightly to make way for Dean, his inner thighs.

“One more thing,” Dean whispers, and Castiel looks down at him. God, he’s stunning like this. “If you’re uncomfortable, at all… Let me know.”

Castiel nods, and reaches out his hand for Dean to take. He happily obliges, and uses his free hand to give Cas a gentle, experimental stroke. He follows Castiel’s head-to-toe shiver with his eyes and smiles before leaning in and running his tongue along Castiel’s shaft. He proceeds to take him in his mouth as fully as he can, enjoying the feeling of Castiel shivering under his ministrations.

“Shit,” Castiel mutters. “Dean, you’re-”

Dean hums and turns his tongue-play into sucking. Castiel hisses and clearly tries to stay as still as possible, even though it takes all his might. Dean wants to tell him to let go, to do as his instincts tell him, but for now he just wants to reach the breaking point like this and watch Castiel fall apart.

The breaking point, it seems, is when Dean slides his fingers up Castiel’s thigh and then back down by dragging his fingers along his skin. Castiel’s groans get louder, more significant and wrecked, and he grabs the edge of the mattress to ground himself. He can’t hold completely still, either; his hips start gently bucking up to meet Dean’s movements, like he’s a bit too lost in sensation to feel self-conscious and it’s turning Dean on so hard he involuntarily grinds against the mattress a couple of times.

Dean can feel Castiel is close, and he can hear it, but he also feels him holding back. He takes him in deep, once, to feel the tip at the back of his throat, and keeps his tongue wide as he licks the downside all the way up. Then, he looks at Castiel, who’s squeezing his eyes shut, completely stiff all over.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks gently, and Castiel buries his face in his hands. Dean huffs out a laugh and climbs on top of him on all fours. “Castiel, look at me.”

Castiel, maybe surprised by his whole name escaping from Dean’s lips, obeys him.

“Tell me.”

“You feel so good,” he whispers, “god, you’re incredible.”

“Hmm. And?”

“And I don’t want to ruin this.”

Dean places a kiss on Castiel’s cheek, and then his jaw, and his neck — and he hopes his little kisses are enough to interpret things his mouth can’t yet say; _You’re beautiful, I’m so happy to be here, I’m so grateful to be alive, I cherish you, I will take care of you._ He moves his way down to Castiel’s clavicle, and listens to the heartbeat thrumming under him.

“You couldn’t ruin this, Cas,” he whispers. Castiel’s breath stutters. “Now, are you going to come for me?”

“It’s… Very hard for me to stay still.”

“Then don’t. Grab my hair. Fucking… fuck my face, if that’s what your instincts tell you to do.”

“I don’t-”

“You’re not ruining this, you damn fool.”

Castiel pulls Dean in for a kiss that’s downright filthy — he pulls his tongue between his lips and sucks it, bites at it, twirls his tongue around it until Dean’s so painfully hard he’s close to absolutely losing it. He moves again, dragging his palms on Castiel’s skin and sitting back on his haunches before taking Castiel in his mouth again. Castiel hisses and curses and it’s hot, hot enough to make Dean groan loudly against Castiel’s shaft and it’s all really fucking intense after that — instead of grabbing Dean’s hair, Castiel grabs his wrists before starting to move his hips along Dean’s with moves. Dean relaxes his mouth and lets Castiel fuck into it, changing his angle to allow a deeper access. Castiel’s moans come out broken and strong, almost yelling now, and when Dean hollows his cheeks to suck him again, he comes loudly, trembling all over, curling his toes against Dean’s legs. Dean licks and strokes him through it, swallows his come, and then flops over next to a lowly cursing Castiel.

“Fuck you,” he mutters. “I- Nah. Just. Fuck you.”

“I would let you,” Dean says matter-of-factly, and Castiel huffs.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please, do.”

Castiel catches his breath for a second longer before turning over to face Dean. He kisses him slowly, making Dean almost embarrassed of how full of feelings he suddenly is. Then, Castiel runs his fingers along Dean’s jaw, neck and down his side.

“May I touch you, Dean?”

Dean nods. “You don’t have to, but you can. Just don’t think you owe me-”

Castiel growls — a low, delicious sound that goes straight down Dean’s body, making him gasp. Castiel doesn’t waste any time — thank god, because it would possibly have killed Dean — and reaches under his boxers to wrap his strong, clever fingers around his shaft. While he starts giving it firm but annoyingly slow strokes, he kisses Dean’s neck, bites his ear gently, and makes him feel wanted and - and _safe_ in a way Dean never thought possible. He gives in to simply feeling; he closes his eyes, lets his voice come out as it does, and sways his hips lazily upwards to meet Castiel’s fist.

Soon enough, he’s ready to explode. Castiel notices his stuttering breath and clenching muscles and picks up his speed, and Dean feels his orgasm run from where Castiel’s lips are still kissing him and down his spine, until he comes hard, loud and messy all over his boxers and pants.

 

They take a long shower, during which they explore each other’s bodies without much talk. The intimacy of the situation is new for Dean and something in him tries to tell him to run, but he knows there’s nothing that would make him obey it. He feels like he’s known Castiel longer than he actually has, and that is counting the time they spent together when he was a ghost — it makes him comfortable enough to let Castiel touch him, to look at him, to kiss him like he means the world.

Castiel takes him in his arms and kisses his neck, and they fall asleep just before the sun rises.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel feels weird.

He looks at Dean, who’s still sleeping next to him, and tries to go through the last 24 hours in his mind.

His head is blissfully blank. He wants nothing more than this; to have Dean, alive and kicking, next to him. Preferably every morning, but he’s also willing to wait for that.

He bites his lip to keep his mind from wandering towards last night. He’s a little embarrassed of losing his control, but more than that, he’s proud of himself — for both of them.

Dean scoots closer to him in his sleep, and it’s too endearing. Also, the proximity doesn’t do much to ease the half-erection Castiel immediately got upon thinking about Dean, his mouth, and the sounds he made when he came.

He kisses Dean’s forehead and tries to go back to sleep, but he’s too restless. He turns around a couple of times, groans at himself and finally, sits up. Immediately, there’s warm hands on his back and Dean gives his bare shoulder a kiss.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says gently, “go back to sleep.”

“Hmm.” Dean says and leans his chest against Castiel’s back, running his hands down his sides. “You’re tense. Having second thoughts?”

“No! No,” Castiel says quickly, before adding under his breath, “quite the opposite.”

“Oh, is that so?” Dean’s hands wrap around Castiel and he places his palms on his chest. “Anything I can do for you?”

Castiel shakes his head, but can’t keep the words from spilling out anyway. “I might want to take you up on that offer.”

Dean hums, and his fingers brace both of Castiel’s nipples. He fights the urge to lean back against Dean and give him full access to whatever he wishes — but soon enough, he’s panting against Dean, the back of his head on his shoulder, and Dean’s fingers slowly rubbing circles on the front of his underwear.

“God, Cas,” Dean whispers, “you’re beautiful.”

“Shut up,” Castiel snaps under his breath. Dean laughs, a hearty, warm thing, and slowly pulls himself free. 

“Okay. I’m going to go to the bathroom for a second. You’re going to either find some lube around this house or have a good plan on how to get some. Is this clear?”

“Clear,” Castiel says with a lopsided grin. Dean gives him a slow once-over before escaping to the bathroom.

Alright, lube it is. Castiel already knows he has none in the house, so there’s no point in trying to find it. He rummages through the contents of his drawer, ignoring his almost embarrassing hard-on, and finds a tube of massage oil he’s used for his calves. According to the label, it also doubles as lube so he tosses it on the bed before drinking a glass of water to calm down his nerves (and his erection).

Dean emerges soon after, and for a moment they get lost in kissing each other on the edge of the bed. It’s languid and really, really lovely — so much so that it makes Castiel feel a longing towards Dean, even when he’s right here.

“You’re in luck,” Dean says as Castiel makes his way down his neck, kissing every freckle on the way, “I have a condom on me.”

“Hopefully not  _ on you _ ,” Castiel mutters, “or you have a very odd perspective on luck.”

Dean rolls his eyes and leaves him for a second to dig through his jacket. He returns with the condom and tosses it on the bed next to the lube before climbing into Castiel’s lap. 

They keep on kissing for a moment longer, and Castiel loves the feeling of having all the time in the world — until he doesn’t. He wants closer, and he wants now, so he gently pushes Dean down on the bed, making him fall on his back with a yelp. Castiel hovers over him, hands on his both sides, and marvels at the sight of Dean actually blushing. Then, he kisses his clavicle and chest, biting and sucking the skin firmly enough to leave faint traces of his lips, and runs the tip of his tongue around his nipples. Dean’s a delightful mess by the time he makes his way low enough to remove his underwear. Before anything else, he strokes Dean a couple of times, making him hiss.

Although there’s a million things Castiel wants to do right now, many of which are filthier than he imagined he could want, he grabs the lube and pours it on his fingers. Dean scoots himself up on his elbows and bends his knees to allow him better access, and when Castiel reaches the rim of his hole, he groans. Castiel’s mesmerized by the sight displayed in front of him, making it almost impossible for him to concentrate on what he’s doing — but he needs to do this right, to be careful, to regain his focus.

He takes his time opening Dean up, one finger at a time; Dean looks like he’s enjoying every single second of it just as much as Castiel is. By the time Castiel adds a third finger and bends his fingers enough to find the prostate, Dean’s head falls back and he’s shamelessly fucking his fingers. 

“Shit, Cas,” he moans, “could you please — fucking — please fucking —”

“What is it, Dean?” he can’t help but ask. “What do you want?”

Dean looks up at him and squints angrily before groaning at another brush of his prostate. 

“Please fuck me,” he says. Castiel leans forward to give him a sloppy kiss, and pulls his fingers out of Dean to take care of the condom. As soon as it’s on, Dean takes the lube to spread it all over his shaft and to mercilessly jerk him off for a good minute.

Dean feels incredibly tight and hot, and even though he’s prepped properly, it takes a while to breach the rim. They both moan at the feeling, and Dean twines his fingers with Castiel’s and pulls him in as an encouragement to go on. Castiel slowly pushes himself further until he bottoms out, and they kiss until Dean bucks up his hips. Castiel frames Dean’s head with his arms and gives him kisses, slow and fast and short and long, while he pulls himself almost all the way out and pushes back in; Dean writhes under him, and drags his nails on the skin of Castiel’s back. He’s blushing again, and he’s absolutely gorgeous like this, and Castiel marks this as one of the things he wants to do every day.

Castiel’s orgasm starts building slowly in his abdomen, and it intensifies until he’s sure he can’t - can’t - come this hard without breaking, and Dean, the fucker, takes notice and clenches his muscles to add tension. Castiel’s breath stutters as he kisses Dean again, and again, and again, and he moves faster and stronger and deeper until Dean’s just as lost in feeling under him — and then he’s coming long, intense, hard, loud, shaky. He pulls out of Dean and reaches down to take him in his mouth, sucking him until he comes yelling blasphemies. 

 

They make it to the coffee table somewhere around the afternoon, although to be honest, they’re both really proud of that. They talk vaguely about food, and dancing, and how Rowena both needs to apologize and hire them both to her next project.

Castiel wants to ask about Dean’s recovery, and he wants to get to know Dean as a person instead of a ghost. He wants to lay all his cards on the table, but he’s pretty certain Dean’s on the same page already — if the way he looks at Castiel is anything to go by. As the evening turns into night, they dance together in the kitchen, and Castiel’s absolutely certain he’s in love; and any second now, he’s going to be brave and say it out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI NICE TO SEE YOU HERE
> 
> I read _Et si c'était vrai..._ by Marc Lévy as a teen and absolutely loved it. I'm so glad for it to have circled back into my life like this. I guess that's all! Listen to the playlist, stay tuned for my DCBB, come say hi on [Tumblr](http://starespressos.tumblr.com) and go give The Artist [usarechan](http://usarechan.tumblr.com) a lot of love!! They deserve it all!


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